Emma’s Wedding

Her mother wasn’t home and Emma heaved a sigh of relief. Explaining to her mother would be better done later on.

The doctor took the key from her and opened the door, then stood looking at her. Mindful of her manners she asked, ‘Would you like a cup of tea? Or perhaps you want to go back to the hotel—someone waiting for you…?’

She was beginning to realise that he never answered a question unless he wanted to, and when he said quietly that he would like a cup of tea she led the way into the cottage.

‘Do sit down,’ said Emma. ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’ And at the same time run a comb through her mop of hair and make sure that her face didn’t look too frightful…

It was tear-stained and pale and in need of powder and lipstick, but that couldn’t be helped. She put the kettle on, laid a tray, found the cake tin and made the tea. When she went back into the sitting room he was standing in front of a watercolour of her old home.

‘Your home?’ he wanted to know.

‘Until a month or so ago. Do you take milk and sugar?’

He sat down and took the cup and saucer she was offering him. ‘Do you want to talk about the—er—rat? None of my business, of course, but doctors are the next best thing to priests when one wishes to give vent to strong feelings.’

Emma offered cake. ‘You have been very kind, and I’m so grateful. But there’s nothing—that is, he’ll go back to London and I can forget him.’

‘Of course. Do you enjoy your work at the library?’

She was instantly and unreasonably disappointed that he hadn’t shown more interest or concern. She said stiffly, ‘Yes, very much. Miss Johnson tells me that you don’t live here, that you are filling in for another doctor?’

‘Yes, I shall be sorry to leave…’

‘Not yet?’

His heavy-lidded eyes gleamed. ‘No, no. I’m looking forward to the summer here.’ He put down his cup and saucer. ‘Thank you for the tea. If you’re sure there is nothing more I can do for you, I’ll be off.’

Well, he had no reason to stay, thought Emma. She was hardly scintillating company. Probably there was someone—a girl—waiting impatiently at the hotel for him.

‘I hope I haven’t hindered you.’

‘Not in the least.’

She stood in the doorway watching him walking away, back to his car. He must think her a tiresome hysterical woman, because that was how she had behaved. And all the fault of Derek. She swallowed rage at the thought of him and went back to clear away the tea tray and lay it anew for her mother.

Mrs Dawson had had a pleasant day; she began to tell Emma about it as she came into the cottage, and it wasn’t until she had had her tea and paused for breath that she noticed Emma’s puffy lids and lightly pink nose.

‘Emma, you’ve been crying. Whatever for? You never cry. You’re not ill?’

‘Derek came,’ said Emma.

Before she could utter another word her mother cried, ‘There—I knew he would. He’s changed his mind, he wants to marry you—splendid; we can leave here and go back to Richmond…’

‘I would not marry Derek if he was the last man on earth,’ said Emma roundly. ‘He said things—most unkind things—about Father…’

‘You never refused him?’

‘Yes, I did. He took me to lunch and I left him at the table. I met one of the doctors from the health centre and he brought me home. Derek is a rat and a worm, and if he comes here again I shall throw something at him.’

‘You must be out of your mind, Emma. Your future—our future—thrown away for no reason at all. Even if Derek upset you by speaking unkindly of your father, I’m sure he had no intention of wounding you.’

‘I’m not going to marry Derek, Mother, and I hope I never set eyes on him again.’

And Emma, usually soft-hearted over her mother’s whims and wishes, wouldn’t discuss it any more, despite that lady’s tears and gentle complaints that the miserable life she was forced to lead would send her to an early grave.

She declared that she had a headache when they got back from evensong, and retired to bed with a supper tray and a hot water bottle.

Emma pottered about downstairs, wondering if she was being selfish and ungrateful. But, even if she were, Derek was still a worm and she couldn’t think how she had ever thought of marrying him.

Mrs Dawson maintained her gentle air of patient suffering for the rest of the following week, until Emma left the house on Saturday morning to clean the cottage. The week’s tenants had had a large family of children and she welcomed the prospect of hard work. As indeed it was; the little place looked as though it had been hit by a cyclone. It would take all her time to get it pristine for the next family.

She set to with a will and was in the kitchen, giving everything a final wipe-down, when the cottage door opened and Mrs Brooke-Tigh came in, and with her Dr van Dyke and a pretty woman of about Emma’s own age.

Mrs Brooke-Tigh ignored her. ‘You’re so lucky,’ she declared loudly, ‘that I had this last-minute cancellation. Take a quick look round and see if it will suit. The next party are due here in half an hour but the girl’s almost finished.’

‘The girl’, scarlet-faced, had turned her back but then had to turn round again. ‘Miss Dawson,’ said Dr van Dyke, ‘what a pleasant surprise. This is my sister, who plans to come for a week with her children.’

He turned to the woman beside him. ‘Wibeke, this is Emma Dawson; she lives here.’

Emma wiped a soapy hand on her pinny and shook hands, wishing herself anywhere else but there, and listened to Wibeke saying how pleased she was to meet her while Mrs Brooke-Tigh, at a loss for words for once, tapped an impatient foot.

Presently she led them away to see round the cottage, and when they were on the point of leaving Mrs Brooke-Tigh said loudly, ‘I’ll be back presently to pay you, Emma. Leave the cleaning things at my back door as you go.’

The perfect finish for a beastly week, thought Emma, grinding her splendid teeth.

And Mrs Brooke-Tigh hardly improved matters when she paid Emma.

‘It doesn’t do to be too familiar with the tenants,’ she pointed out. ‘I hardly think it necessary to tell you that. Don’t be late on Wednesday.’

Emma, who was never late, bade her good afternoon in a spine-chilling voice and went home.

It would have been very satisfying to have tossed the bucket and mop at Mrs Brooke-Tigh and never returned, but with the bucket and mop there would have gone sixty pounds, not forgetting the tips left on the dressing table. She would have to put up with Mrs Brooke-Tigh until the season ended, and in the meantime she would keep her ears open for another job. That might mean going to Kingsbridge every day, since so many of the shops and hotels closed for the winter at Salcombe.

Too soon to start worrying, Emma told herself as she laid out some of the sixty pounds on a chicken for Sunday lunch and one of the rich creamy cakes from the patisserie which her mother enjoyed.

To make up for her horrid Saturday, Sunday was nice, warm and sunny so that she was able to wear a jersey dress, slightly out of date but elegant, and of a pleasing shade of blue. After matins, while her mother chatted with friends, a pleasant young man with an engaging smile introduced himself as Mrs Craig’s son.

‘Here for a few days,’ he told her, and, ‘I don’t know a soul. Do take pity on me and show me round.’

He was friendly and she readily agreed. ‘Though I have part time jobs…’

‘When are you free? What about tomorrow morning?’

‘I must do the shopping…’

‘Splendid, I’ll come with you and carry the basket. We could have coffee. Where shall I meet you?’

‘At the bakery at the bottom of Main Street, about ten o’clock?’

‘Right, I’ll look forward to that. The name’s Brian, by the way.’

‘Emma,’ said Emma. ‘Your mother is waiting and so’s mine.’

‘Such a nice boy,’ said her mother over lunch, and added, ‘He is twenty-three, just qualified as a solicitor. He’s rather young, of course…’ She caught Emma’s eye. ‘It is a great pity that you sent Derek away.’

Emma quite liked shopping, and she enjoyed it even more with Brian to carry her basket and talk light-heartedly about anything which caught his eye. They lingered over coffee and then went back through the town to collect sausages from the butcher. His shop was next to one of the restaurants in the town and Brian paused outside it.

‘This looks worth a visit. Have dinner with me one evening, Emma?’

‘Not on Tuesday or Thursday; I work at the library.’

‘Wednesday? Shall we meet here, inside, at half past seven.’

‘I’d like that, thank you.’ She smiled at him. ‘Thank you for the coffee; I’ve enjoyed my morning.’

Miss Johnson was grumpy on Tuesday evening and Mrs Brooke-Tigh was more than usually high-handed the following day. She couldn’t find fault with Emma’s work, but somehow she managed to give the impression that it wasn’t satisfactory. Which made the prospect of an evening out with Brian very inviting. Emma put on the jersey dress once more and went along to the restaurant.

Brian was waiting for her, obviously glad to see her, and sat her down at the small table, ordering drinks.

In reply to her enquiry as to what he thought of the town he smiled wryly. ‘It’s a charming little place, but after London’s bright lights…What do you do with yourself all day long?’

‘Me? Well, there’s the library and the shopping, and all the chores, and we’re beginning to know more people now.’

‘You don’t get bored? My mother likes living here; it’s a splendid place for elderly widows: nice hotels, bridge, coffee, reading a good book in the sun, gossiping—but you are rather young for that.’

‘I’ve been coming here ever since I was a small girl. It’s a kind of a second home, although most of the people I knew have left the town. But I’m quite content.’

They went to their table and ate lobster and a complicated ice cream pudding, and finished a bottle of white wine between them, lingering over their coffee until Emma said, ‘I really must go home. Mother insisted that she would wait up for me and she sleeps badly.’

‘I’m going back on Friday. But I’m told there’s a good pub at Hope Cove. Will you have lunch with me there? I’ll pick you up around twelve-thirty?’

‘Thank you, that would be nice. If you like walking we could go along the beach if the tide’s out.’

‘Splendid. I’ll walk you back.’

They parted at the cottage door in a friendly fashion, though Emma was aware that he only sought her company because he was bored and didn’t know anyone else…

Her mother was in her dressing gown, eager for an account of her evening.

‘You’ll go out with him again if he asks you?’ she enquired eagerly.

‘I’m having lunch with him on Friday.’ Emma yawned and kicked off her best shoes. ‘He’s going back to London; I think he is bored here.’

‘Mrs Craig was telling me that she wishes he would settle down…’

‘Well, he won’t here; that’s a certainty.’ Emma kissed her mother goodnight and went to bed, aware that her mother had hoped for more than a casual friendship with Brian.

He is still a boy, thought Emma sleepily, and allowed her thoughts to turn to Dr van Dyke who, she suspected, was very much a man.

Miss Johnson was still grumpy on Thursday evening, but since it was pay day Emma forgave her. Besides, she was kept busy by people wanting books for the weekend. She felt quite light-hearted as she went home, her wages in her purse, planning something tasty for the weekend which wouldn’t make too large a hole in the housekeeping.

Friday was warm and sunny, and she was out early to do the weekend shopping for there would be no time on Saturday. Her mother was going out to lunch with one of her new-found friends and Emma raced around, getting everything ready for cooking the supper and, just in case Brian wanted to come back for tea, she laid a tea tray.

He came promptly and they walked through the town to the car park. He drove up the road bordering the estuary onto the main road and then turned off to Hope Cove. The road was narrow now, running through fields, with a glimpse of the sea. When they reached the tiny village and parked by the pub there were already a number of cars there.

The pub was dark and oak-beamed and low-ceilinged inside, and already quite full.

Brian looked around him. ‘I like this place—full of atmosphere and plenty of life. What shall we eat?’

They had crab sandwiches, and he had a beer and Emma a glass of white wine, and since there was no hurry they sat over the food while he told her of his work.

‘Of course I could never leave London,’ he told her. ‘I’ve a flat overlooking the river and any number of friends and a good job. I shall have to come and see Mother from time to time, but a week is about as much as I can stand.’ He added, ‘Don’t you want to escape, Emma?’

‘Me? Where to?’

‘Mother told me that you lived in Richmond. You must have had friends…’

‘My father went bankrupt,’ she said quietly. ‘Yes, we had friends—fair-weather friends. And we’re happy here. Mother has made several new friends, so she goes out quite a lot, and I’m happy.’ She went on, ‘If you’ve finished, shall we walk along the cliff path for a while? The view is lovely…’

She hadn’t been quite truthful, she reflected, but she sensed that Brian was a young man who didn’t like to be made uneasy. He would go back to his flat and his friends, assuring himself that her life was just what she wanted.

They drove back to Salcombe presently, parked the car at the hotel and walked back through the town.

Outside the bakery Emma stopped. ‘Don’t come any further,’ she suggested. ‘If you are going back today I expect you want to see your mother before you go. I enjoyed lunch; Hope Cove is a delightful little place. I hope you have a good journey back home.’

‘I’ll leave within the hour; it’s quite a long trip. I’ll be glad to get back. Life’s a bit slow here, isn’t it? I wish we could have seen more of each other, but I expect you’ll still be here if and when I come again.’

‘Oh, I expect so.’ She offered a hand and he took it and kissed her cheek.

Dr van Dyke, coming round the corner, stopped short, wished them a cheerful hello and gave Emma a look to send the colour into her cheeks. It said all too clearly that she hadn’t wasted much time in finding someone to take Derek’s place.

He went into the baker’s, and she bade a final hasty goodbye to Brian and almost ran to the cottage. The doctor would think…She didn’t go too deeply into what he would think; she hoped that she wouldn’t see him again for a very long time.

It was a brilliant morning on Saturday, and already warm when she got to Mrs Brooke-Tigh’s house, collected her cleaning brushes and cloths and started on her chores. From a bedroom window she watched Mrs Brooke-Tigh go down the lane, swinging her beach bag. On Saturday mornings she went to the hotel at the other end of the town, which had a swimming pool and a delightful terrace where one could laze for hours. The moment she was out of sight the girl in the other cottage crossed over and came upstairs.

‘Thought I’d let you know I’ve given in my notice. She’s furious; she’ll never get anyone by Wednesday. Wouldn’t hurt her to do a bit of housework herself. Mind she doesn’t expect you to take on any more work.’

Emma was stripping beds. ‘I don’t see how she can…’

‘She’ll think of something. I’d better get on, I suppose. Bye.’

Mrs Brooke-Tigh came back earlier than usual; Emma was setting the tea tray ready for the next tenants when she walked in.

‘That girl’s leaving,’ she told Emma without preamble. ‘She never was much good but at least she was a pair of hands. I’ll never get anyone else at such short notice. We will have to manage as best we can. I shall notify the next two weeks’ tenants that they can’t come in until six o’clock. If you come at nine o’clock and work until six you can do both cottages. I’ll pay you another fifteen pounds a day—thirty pounds a week more.’

Emma didn’t answer at once. The money would be useful…‘I’m willing to do that for the next week and, if I must, the second week. But no longer than that.’

Mrs Brooke-Tigh sniffed. ‘I should have thought that you would have jumped at the chance of more money.’ She would have said more, but the look Emma gave her left the words dying on her tongue. Instead she said ungraciously, ‘Well, all right, I’ll agree to that.’ She turned to go. ‘Bring your stuff over and I’ll pay you.’

There was a car outside the door as she left. It appeared to be full of small children, and a friendly young woman, the one who had been with the doctor, got out. ‘I say, hello, how nice to meet you again. We’re here for a week so we must get to know each other.’ She smiled. ‘Where’s that woman who runs the place?’

‘I’ll fetch her,’ said Emma, ‘and I’d love to see you again.’

CHAPTER THREE

IT WAS quite late in the evening when the phone rang. ‘It’s me, Wibeke Wolff. There wasn’t time to talk so I got that woman to give me your phone number. I do know who you are, Roele told me, so please forgive me for ringing you up. I don’t know anyone here. Roele’s only free occasionally, and I wondered if you would show me the best places to take the children. A beach where they can be safe in the water? If you would like, could we go somewhere tomorrow? I’ll get a picnic organised. This is awful cheek…’

‘I’d love a picnic,’ said Emma. ‘There are some lovely beaches but we don’t need to go far tomorrow; there’s South Sands only a few minutes in a car. Would that do for a start?’

‘It sounds ideal. You’re sure you don’t mind?’

‘No, of course not. Where shall I meet you?’

‘Here at this cottage? About ten o’clock? I thought we might come back about three o’clock. You’re sure I’m not spoiling your day?’

‘No, I’m looking forward to it. And I’ll be there in the morning.’

‘Who was that, Emma?’ Her mother looked hopeful. ‘Someone you have met taking you out for lunch?’

‘A picnic. Mrs Wibeke Wolff with three children; we’re having a picnic lunch at South Sands tomorrow.’

‘Oh, well, I suppose it’s a change for you. I shall be out in the afternoon; I’ll make a sandwich or something for my lunch.’

Emma took this remark for what it was worth. Her mother had no intention of doing any such thing. She said cheerfully, ‘I’ll leave lunch all ready for you, Mother, and cook supper after we’ve been to church. Unless you want to go to Matins?’

‘You know I need my rest in the morning. Just bring me a cup of tea and I’ll manage my own breakfast.’

‘If you want to,’ said Emma briskly. ‘There’ll be breakfast as usual in the morning, but if you would rather get up later and cook something?’

‘No, no, I’ll come down in my dressing gown. I don’t have much strength in the morning, but then of course I have always been delicate.’

Emma, her head full of the morrow’s picnic, wasn’t listening.

Sunday was another glorious morning. Emma got into a cotton dress and sandals, found a straw hat and a swimsuit, got breakfast for her gently complaining parent and made her way through the still quiet streets to the holiday cottages.

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