Wish with the Candles Read online

  She called Mrs Coffin by name once or twice, getting a little worried, but there was no sound other than the birds and some bawling calves in the field on the other side of the lane. She turned to go back to the house and called once more as she did so, and this time there was a reply—a faint one, coming from the field and sounding somehow hollow. She started to run and then pulled up short when Mrs Coffin’s voice came again from somewhere under the ground and quite close. Emma stood still and called urgently, ‘Mrs Coffin—where are you?’ and began to cast about her, and when Mrs Coffin’s voice came again, she saw where she was. Down a disused well, its rotten lid splintered and lying on the ground around it, and poor Mrs Coffin’s elderly hands grasping its edge with desperate strength.

  Emma went down on her knees, peering down as she did so. ‘How long have you been there?’ and not waiting for a reply. ‘Hang on for just another moment.’ She took a firm grip of Mrs Coffin’s wrists and tried to lift her, but Mrs Coffin, although small and slight, was tired and afraid and could do nothing to help Emma. She mumbled, ‘I’ve been here about twenty minutes, I don’t know any more. I caught my feet on a ledge as I fell and managed to hold on to the rim, but I can’t hold on much longer.’ She lifted a white strained face to Emma’s, several feet above her.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Emma cheerfully, desperately worried. ‘I’ll take the strain for you—I don’t think I can lift you, but I can certainly hold you up for a long time, and someone’s sure to come sooner or later.’

  Which remark she knew was optimistic in the extreme. There was no reason for anyone to come up Badger’s Cross on a Friday—the butcher came on Saturdays, so did the baker. Emma swallowed an hysterical bubble of laughter at the thought of holding Mrs Coffin’s wrists for another twenty-four hours, and told herself that her mother would certainly wonder where she had got to before very long. It was a pity that Emma had said as she left the cottage, ‘If I’m not back for lunch, don’t worry, Mother, if Carol’s at the vicarage I expect they’ll ask me to stay.’ Carol was an old friend and they had gone in and out of each other’s homes ever since she could remember. Emma, recalling this remark with painful clarity, knew that her mother wouldn’t suspect anything amiss until some time after lunch, and as far as Emma could guess now, it wasn’t much past noon.

  She took a firmer grip and told Mrs Coffin that she had taken the kettle off the stove. Mrs Coffin thanked her politely, her voice thin and hollow, then went on, mumbling a little, ‘I remembered I wanted some beans and I thought I’d just pop and get them before I forgot.’ Her voice died away and Emma felt her shudder, and plunged into an aimless monologue about her work, her holiday and all the village gossip she could remember—anything to keep Mrs Coffin’s mind off her predicament. After a few minutes she said, ‘Mrs Coffin, you couldn’t hang on for a few minutes while I run down the lane to Tom’s house and get help? I know he’s home, I spoke to him on the way here.’

  Mrs Coffin’s voice came very clearly up the wall of the well. ‘If you leave me, I shall fall. It’s a deep well, I shall—I shall…’

  ‘No, you won’t,’ said Emma hastily. ‘I won’t leave you, don’t worry. We shan’t have to wait much longer.’

  False cheer, she knew as she said it, but what else was there to say?

  The sun got warm on the back of her head, the strain on her wrists was intolerable, and her knees ached as well as her back. And although she kept up a cheerful one-sided conversation, Mrs Coffin’s monosyllabic replies got fewer and weaker. Emma stopped her chatter and listened, as she had been listening at intervals ever since she had found Mrs Coffin. Birds, she thought wearily, and those calves and the trees rustling gently in the almost still air and now, this time, the clock in the church striking two… There was another sound too—footsteps and the creak of the gate opening and shutting. Emma drew a long breath and let out an ear-piercing whistle and then, on another desperate breath, a shout. She had hardly finished the shout when the professor dropped to his knees beside her and without saying a word clamped his hands below hers on Mrs Coffin’s wrists and said in a curiously harsh voice:

  ‘Let go, Emma, I’ve got her. How long have you been here?’

  ‘Almost two hours.’ Emma was rubbing her wrists, unaware of their pain because she was so happy to see him. ‘Mrs Coffin fell in about twenty minutes before I arrived—she thinks. Her feet are on a ledge. The well’s dry, but it’s deep.’ She continued, common sense taking over once more:

  ‘She’s quite a small woman, about eight stone, I should think, but she’s tired and can’t help.’

  Justin nodded and when Emma looked at his face she was surprised to see how white it was. He said quietly to Mrs Coffin, ‘I’m going to pull you up in a moment. Just hold fast to my wrists and don’t be frightened, we’ll have you out in next to no time.’

  He bent lower and Emma saw his broad shoulders brace. She asked, staring at his still strangely white face, ‘Justin, can you manage—are you all right?’

  He turned to look at her, very briefly. ‘My dear Emma, now that I’ve found you, I’m capable of moving mountains.’ He smiled with the quiet confidence of a man who had no doubt as to his capabilities. She supposed it was his relief in finding that he could rescue Mrs Coffin fairly easily which had made him say that.

  ‘Do you want me to do anything?’

  ‘No, not at the moment.’ He turned back to the well, said, ‘Now, Mrs Coffin,’ and began to draw her up with steady strength.

  He carried Mrs Coffin back to the cottage with Emma hurrying on ahead to open doors, and laid her carefully down on to the oversized chesterfield which took up one entire wall of the sitting-room, and she opened her eyes to smile at them both and murmur, ‘How kind,’ and as she spoke she fainted. Five minutes later she was still unconscious, despite the professor’s and Emma’s efforts to revive her, and her colour, which had been poor in the first place, had become livid. The professor sat back on his heels beside her and took her pulse once more.

  ‘Any idea of her medical history?’ he inquired.

  Emma shook her head. ‘No—Dr Hallett looks after her and she told me once—ages ago—that she had high blood pressure.’

  The professor grunted. ‘Run down to the village, dear girl,’ he invited her, ‘and telephone Dr Hallett—ask him to come up here. I should think Mrs Coffin might need hospital treatment. There’s not much I can do without my bag.’ He added unhurriedly, ‘Run, Emma.’

  Emma ran. She went very fast because it was downhill all the way and perhaps Mrs Coffin’s very life depended on her speed and because Justin had called her his dear girl. She arrived at the Post Office in a very short time indeed and Mrs Beech, sensible body that she was, took one look at her face and swept her though the little shop to the telephone at the back, and when Emma said ‘Dr Hallett’ rather breathlessly, got his number at once for her, so that she had a few seconds to get her breath, and was able to give her message without a lot of huffing and puffing. It was a relief to hear Dr Hallett’s voice saying:

  ‘I’ll be there in ten minutes, Emma, I’ve been expecting this for some time. She’ll have to go to hospital—get an ambulance organized like a good girl, will you?’

  She was waiting outside the shop when he drew up a few minutes later and going up the hill, sitting beside him, she filled in the bare bones of her message, then jumped out as he drew up beside Mrs Coffin’s garden gate and went in with him. Mrs Coffin didn’t look any better and the professor was doing artificial respiration. Emma left the two men to their work and went upstairs to pack a few necessities for the hospital, and when she got down again Mrs Coffin’s cheeks had the merest tinge of pink in them.

  ‘I’ll follow her in,’ said Dr Hallett. ‘Emma, go in the ambulance, will you? You can come back with me—it shouldn’t take too long. Sorry to spoil your day off.’ He looked at her and then at the professor; a shrewd glance over the top of his pebble glasses. ‘Not breaking anything up, I hope?’

  ‘No, o
f course not,’ said Emma hastily, wishing with all her heart that he were. ‘We’re only having a lazy day at home.’ As an afterthought she added, ‘Shall I introduce you, or did you do that yourselves?’

  She was assured that she had no need and as there seemed no point in mentioning that she had missed her lunch she fell silent, and presently looked up to find the professor’s green eyes inquiringly upon her. She frowned at him and he smiled very faintly and said nothing—probably he hadn’t had lunch either, she thought guiltily, and was about to suggest that he might like to go back to the cottage when he anticipated her by saying, ‘No, Emma, I’m not in a hurry. I daresay Dr Hallett will be good enough to give me a lift back to the village as he goes.’

  The ambulance arrived then and bore Mrs Coffin and Emma away to Dorchester, where Emma waited with what patience she could muster, reading last year’s copies of Woman’s Own and The Lady while the patient was borne away to a ward and Dr Hallett talked to the house physician. It was almost four o’clock by the time she got into the car once again and the doctor turned for Mutchley Magna.

  ‘Nice chap, that friend of yours, Emma,’ Dr Hallett remarked as he pointed the car north. ‘Do you fancy each other?’

  Emma went pink, but she had known Dr Hallett since she had been a very small girl indeed and she was used to his out-spoken remarks.

  ‘He’s only here,’ she declared, ‘at Southampton, that is, for a little while—to demonstrate some techniques. He’s a chest surgeon. He’s Dutch.’

  ‘None of which answers my question, though perhaps you have answered it after all, Emma. There’s some chocolate in the glove compartment—you must have missed your lunch.’

  Emma gave him a grateful look, as much for not persisting with his awkward questions as for the chocolate. When they arrived at the cottage she said, ‘Thank you for the lift. Come in and have tea, you must need it and I’m sure Mother will have some ready.’

  They went into the cottage together, straight through its little hall and out of its back door because everyone was in the garden with tea spread out comfortably around them. Mrs Hastings and Kitty greeted them with cries of welcome and the professor got to his feet, but beyond a smile and a quick word he had little to say to Emma, contenting himself with a long and earnest conversation with Dr Hallett, so that Emma was left to answer her mother’s and Kitty’s questions. ‘And I promised to go back to Mrs Coffin’s house this evening and make sure everything was safe and lock the front door for her. I’ll go when I’ve had tea.’

  ‘No, I’ll go, darling,’ said Kitty. ‘You’ve had a rotten afternoon—you lie here in the sun for an hour. I’ve made a huge pile of sandwiches for you, for you had no lunch, did you?’ She rolled over the better to look at the professor and called, ‘Hi, Justin, I’m going up to Mrs Coffin’s presently to lock up—she asked Emma to do it, but Emma’s due an hour of peace and quiet. Come with me?’

  He smiled at her. ‘Yes, of course, but don’t make it too late, I thought we might all go out to dinner—there’s a nice little inn at Cerne Abbas. That’s if you would all like to come?’

  His inquiring eyebrows swept the little circle and Kitty and Mrs Hastings answered at once that it sounded lovely and Emma said, ‘How nice,’ more slowly. She would rather have stayed home and gone up to Mrs Coffin’s with Justin, but he was obviously glad to be going with Kitty and, she reminded herself firmly, it would be delightful to lie on the grass and do nothing for an hour or so. The only thing was, when she did nothing she had time to think, and nowadays the only thoughts she had were of Justin.

  All the same she went to sleep, with the dog curled up close beside her and the late afternoon sun beating down warmly on to her untidy head. She didn’t wake up until Kitty came back into the garden; it was her laughter which roused her and she rolled over on to a protesting Flossie to see her sister and Justin standing by her. Kitty said at once:

  ‘Hullo, Emma, did you have a good nap? Justin telephoned the hospital and Mrs Coffin’s OK—isn’t that nice? We locked up—I’ve hung the key over the door in the eaves. Are you coming in to change?’

  Emma got to her feet. ‘Yes, of course. Is there going to be a run on the bath?’ She didn’t look at the professor.

  ‘No, Mother’s already dressed and Justin’s good-natured enough to say he doesn’t mind if the water’s not hot. You go first, you’re quicker than I am.’

  They all three went into the house and the two girls went upstairs and the professor went into the sitting-room to join Mrs Hastings. It was while Emma was doing her hair that Kitty, tearing into her clothes, declared, ‘What a dear he is, Emma! I can’t believe he’s forty—I mean you expect men to be a bit stuffy by then, don’t you, but he’s not, and he doesn’t try and behave like a young man either, and he knows exactly how to treat a woman, doesn’t he?’

  Emma raked a comb through her hair and winced with the pain. ‘I wouldn’t know,’ she commented mildly; a direct antithesis of her true feelings. ‘We don’t get treated like women in theatre, you know—just automatons.’

  Kitty gave her a piercing look which she didn’t see. ‘Emma, I know all about that, but you’re not in the theatre all the time. What about coffee time and the odd chat before you start work—hasn’t he taken you out?’

  Emma got up from the stool before the dressing table. ‘Well, yes. Once. But only because we’d been up during the night and we had a busy day after it and he happened to meet me after the list was finished. He was hungry,’ she stated flatly. ‘Does this dress do?’

  It was a pretty dress, brown and white print with a smocked bodice and billowing sleeves. Its white collar was extravagantly large; the sleeves were held at the wrists by brown silk bands, and it somehow turned Emma into a pretty girl.

  ‘Smashing—sometimes you look prettier than I do,’ commented Kitty with sisterly candour.

  Emma laughed. ‘How nice, but not true, alas. Turn round and I’ll zip you up at the back. I like this dress.’

  Kitty looked down at herself. ‘Yes, so do I, blue always suits me. What’s Little Willy like, Emma?’

  She leaned closer to the mirror and put on a little more lipstick while Emma watched her. ‘Tops,’ Emma said briefly, ‘but a bit shy. He’s a good surgeon.’

  Kitty nodded. ‘Yes, I noticed he was shy.’ She smiled to herself. ‘Rather nice in this day and age. He likes you.’

  ‘In a casual sort of way. I don’t make eyes at him.’

  Kitty giggled. ‘You’ve never made eyes at anyone, Emma, which makes you a very nice person to know. Let’s go down.’

  Mrs Hastings, in the black and white printed silk she kept for bridge parties, the Church bazaar and the occasional visit to friends’ dinner-parties, looked up as they went into the sitting-room. The professor was there too, elegant in grey suiting of impeccable cut and a tie in which good taste and high fashion mingled nicely.

  ‘At last!’ said their mother. ‘Had you forgotten we’re going out?’

  Kitty blew her a kiss. ‘Darling, no—we were talking, you know how it is.’ She slipped across the room and tucked an arm into Justin’s. ‘I was telling Emma she was prettier than I was and she wouldn’t believe me.’

  Emma went pink. ‘Kitty, how absurd you are. I can’t hold a candle to you and you know it.’ She turned to her mother. ‘Sorry, dear, but we’re ready now.’ She smiled vaguely for the benefit of the professor and made for the door to stop halfway as Justin said quietly, ‘Could we not settle the matter by saying that if Emma cannot hold a candle to you, Kitty, no one can hold a candle to Emma?’

  Kitty laughed. ‘Oh, nicely put, Justin. Trust a man of the world to think of something so satisfying for us both! Let’s go, I’m famished.’

  They dined in the pleasant restaurant of the small country inn with the evening sun casting a warm glow to mingle with the soft candlelight. They ate lobster cocktails and drank a very dry sherry with them, went on to sample the Coq au Vin with a white Bordeaux to accompany it, then a fresh f
ruit salad laced with Curaçao and veiled in whipped cream, and throughout the entire delightful meal the professor, without appearing to do so, led the conversation from one lighthearted topic to the next, never once touching upon his own private life, although he was willing enough to talk, in a somewhat reserved fashion, about his work. It wasn’t until they were drinking their coffee that Emma came to the conclusion that they had told him a great deal about themselves, at least, her mother and Kitty had; she had been content to leave most of the talking to them, content to add a word here and there and watch unnoticed the professor’s face with its high jutting nose and mobile mouth. Once or twice she hadn’t been able to look away fast enough and he had stared at her, without smiling.

  They drove back home through the quiet country roads in the still light summer evening and when they got back Mrs Hastings said, ‘If it won’t spoil that lovely dinner, shall we have coffee?’

  ‘I’ll get it,’ said Emma before anyone else could offer, and went through to the kitchen and started on the business of grinding the coffee and putting on the kettle. She was bending over the fridge looking for the cream jug when Justin walked in.

  ‘I’ve come to carry the tray,’ he observed pleasantly, and then sat down on the table and watched her so that after a few moments she grew uncomfortable under his look and felt compelled to say something.

  ‘I enjoyed dinner,’ she said at length. ‘Thank you very much.’

  ‘The pleasure,’ he said with faint amusement, ‘was mine.’

  Emma tumbled brown sugar into the silver sugar bowl her mother liked to use, even when there were no guests. ‘Oh, I’m glad. You see, it’s not—that is, we lead rather a quiet life. You’re not bored?’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘No, Emma, I’m not bored. Why do you imagine that I should be?’

  ‘Well,’ said Emma truthfully, ‘I don’t think this is the way you live.’

  The professor put his hands in his pockets and asked with the air of a man about to be entertained, ‘And in what way do I live?’