by Betty Neels
‘Look, Louisa, he’s hardly noticed me—he says good morning and asks for things, but that’s all—I mean, we’re not even acquaintances.’ She remembered the meeting on the bridle path and decided to say nothing about it.
‘Anyone else would have got to know him,’ grumbled Louisa. ‘What about that special patient you had—didn’t he look after him?’
‘Yes.’ Emily went past her sister and put on the kettle; a cup of tea might help matters.
‘And you nursed him, didn’t you? And do you mean to say that he never spoke to you?’
‘Only to tell me to do things or ask about something to do with the patient.’
Louisa tossed her head. ‘You’re no use at all, Emily; I believe you’re scared stiff of him.’
Emily considered the matter. ‘No, I don’t think so, why should I be?’ She warmed the pot and spooned in the tea. ‘How are the twins? Is William better? I’ll go up and have a look in a minute.’
‘They’re fine. Emily, does this doctor…’
‘He’s a surgeon—a professor of surgery, actually.’
‘Does he work at the hospital every day? Where does he live?’
Emily sighed; Louisa looked fragile and unable to say boo to a goose, but actually she had a will of iron and the strength of whipcord. ‘He comes most days, but only for rounds, when he’s operating and I haven’t the faintest idea where he lives.’
Louisa eyed her curiously. ‘Don’t you want to know?’
‘No—why should I?’ She poured the tea. ‘And how would I find out, for heaven’s sake?’
Her sister didn’t answer and Emily, not looking at her, didn’t see the thoughtful look on her pretty face.
She was free the next day and she was surprised and touched when Louisa, over breakfast, offered to wash up and tidy the house while she dealt with the twins. ‘And I’ll wash up after lunch, too,’ went on Louisa, ‘if you wouldn’t mind taking the twins for their walk while I nip down to Marks and Spencer’s for some tights.’
Emily agreed; she hated washing up, and bathing and dressing the twins was much more fun than Hoovering round the house and dusting. The day passed pleasantly; she was out soon after lunch, the twins tucked warmly into their pram. But today she decided not to go along the bridle path but into the park. It looked bleak under the November sky and there weren’t many people there, but she had remembered to bring some crusts for the ducks in the pond and they spent five minutes watching them gobble them up. She got back home later than she had meant to, but Louisa wasn’t back; she sat the twins in their high chairs, made their Farex, coddled eggs and put orange juice in their feeding cups, laid the table for their own tea presently, and sat down between the pair of them. She was spooning food into small alternate mouths when she heard the key in the front door and called: ‘I’m in the kitchen, we’ll have tea when you’ve got your coat off.’
The kitchen door opened with a flourish and Louisa came in and just behind her, Professor Jurres-Romeijn.
Emily paused with a spoonful of Farex poised in front of an impatient William’s small mouth. ‘Good lord,’ she exclaimed, ‘however did you get here?’ she added a hasty, ‘Professor.’
He didn’t answer her at once but stood staring at the three of them sitting on the other side of the kitchen table. There was a gleam of amusement in his eyes although he spoke gravely enough. ‘I stand corrected,’ he murmured, ‘but Claire is very like you, you know.’
Emily shot him an indignant glance. ‘You thought she was mine?’
‘Yes.’ He smiled suddenly and with charm and her own mouth lifted at the corners. ‘Twins, I see…’ It wasn’t quite a question, but she answered him as though it was.
‘Yes, my elder sister Mary’s—while she and her husband are abroad.’
‘Ah, yes, I should…’
He was interrupted by Louisa, who hadn’t had a chance to utter a word so far and was getting impatient. ‘I fell down right in front of Professor Jurres-Romeijn’s car, Emily, just outside the hospital, and he brought me home and do you know, he knows the street the flat’s in…’ She paused to smile at him and Emily thought how very pretty she was, standing there with her bright hair curling round her flushed face, her eyes sparkling.
She asked mildly: ‘Did you hurt yourself?’ and popped the Farex into William’s mouth at last.
‘Only just a very little—my ankle. But it’s nothing to worry about.’
Claire, anxious for the rest of her tea, screwed up her face and let out a great howl and the Professor moved round the table, picked up a spoon and offered coddled egg. While Claire munched, Emily said: ‘My goodness, that was smart work. Have you children of your own, Professor?’
‘No, but any number of godchildren.’
‘He’s not married,’ said Louisa happily, and the Professor’s mouth twitched.
‘I daresay I’m a confirmed bachelor. Does this moppet have to eat all this gluey stuff?’
Emily ladled more food into William. ‘It’s Farex and awfully good for them. Yes, she’ll eat the lot, but don’t bother, I can manage the two of them quite easily.’
Louisa had taken off her coat. ‘Is there a fire in the sitting room?’ she wanted to know, ‘because if there is we could have tea there?’ She smiled at the Professor. ‘You’ll have a cup of tea, won’t you?’
He glanced at Emily, who took no notice. ‘Thank you, I should like that, and perhaps I should look at that injured ankle.’
‘Oh, that’s almost better,’ said Louisa airily. ‘Come into the sitting room.’
‘Why not here,’ he asked mildly, ‘then we can finish feeding these two.’
‘Oh, Emily’ll see to them…’
Emily took the hint. ‘Yes, of course I will. You see to the tea, then, Louisa.’
The Professor got up and accompanied Louisa out of the room and Emily, straining her ears, could hear them laughing and talking and the tinkle of the best tea cups and saucers being got from the cupboard. Presently Louisa came into the kitchen and put on the kettle and Emily started to clear up the twins’ tea. ‘Can’t you put them in their cots for half an hour, Emily?’
Emily had a wriggling infant under each arm. ‘No, you know I can’t. I’ll have tea later.’
She went upstairs and got the babies ready for bed and tucked them into their cots. When she went downstairs the Professor had gone.
‘He asked me to say goodbye,’ said Louisa. ‘He ate three of your scones; I told him I’d made them.’ She looked around the small, shabby room. ‘This is a dump, Emily, I wonder what he thought of it…’
‘Does it matter?’ Emily poured herself a cup of cool tea. ‘Did you really hurt yourself, love, or did you plan the whole thing?’
Louisa giggled. ‘What do you think?’ She went on excitedly: ‘He said he hoped I’d go out to dinner with him one evening. Emily, he’s absolutely fab and I don’t care if he is twice my age and he’s got that gorgeous car. He said he couldn’t believe that you were my sister.’
‘I don’t suppose he could,’ observed Emily dryly. ‘Did you get your tights?’
‘Tights? Oh, that was just an excuse. I say, Emily, do you suppose he’ll take me out when I’m in London?’
‘Probably, if he’s there too.’
‘Didn’t you know?’ asked Louisa. ‘He’s got a flat there—he drives up and down each day. He lives in Holland, but he’s over here a lot.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘I bet he’s rich.’
Emily picked up the tray. ‘Look, love, don’t get carried away; you might never see him again.’
It was just as they were going up to bed that Louisa suddenly asked: ‘I say, what was all that talk when we came in—all about him standing corrected and how like you Claire was and you said something about him thinking that she was yours…’ She gave a sudden shriek of laughter: ‘Emily, he thought you were the twins’ mum…oh, how could he? I mean, you don’t look like anyone’s mum, and however did he think you could work all day and look after them as w
ell, and run a house too?’
‘Men aren’t very practical about such things, and anyway, I told him that I had you to help me.’
‘When?’ Louisa frowned. ‘I thought you never spoke to him.’
‘I met him the other afternoon and I had Claire with me in the pram, so it was natural enough for him to think she was my baby, I suppose.’
Louisa had regained her good humour. ‘Oh, poor Emily, I bet you blushed!’
‘I can’t remember,’ observed Emily, remembering only too well that her face had been like fire for minutes on end.
She spent a long time at her dressing table before she got into bed, experimenting with Elizabeth Arden. She had never been very good at putting on make-up, but even with her inexpert hand, she thought she looked a great deal better. She couldn’t use it as lavishly when she was on duty, but there was the hospital ball in ten days’ time; no one had asked her to go yet, but if they did, she would; she had last year’s flowered crêpe at the back of the wardrobe; better still, she would use the money she had saved for a new pair of high boots and buy a new dress, something really fashionable. She tumbled into bed and lay happily deciding exactly what she would buy—providing, of course, that she got asked.
Wonder of wonders, she did get asked. Sammy Bolt, one of the laboratory assistants, stopped her on the way to the canteen and invited her to partner him. She was so surprised that for a minute she didn’t say anything. For one thing she didn’t like Sammy much; he was a long-haired, trendy type with a reputation for chatting up the nurses, not at all her sort. On the other hand, it would be wonderful to have an escort. She thanked him gravely and he gave her the wide smile which he considered the girls fell for. ‘OK, I’ll meet you at the front entrance at eight o’clock.’
‘Yes, all right.’ She added awkwardly: ‘Thank you for asking me. I must go to the canteen now, I’m late already.’
And over dinner, when she told her friends, she added: ‘I can’t think why he asked me…I mean, me!’
Her friends were as puzzled as she was; Emily was a dear and well liked, but hardly sexy, and Sammy was a bit of a tearaway. They wouldn’t have been puzzled if they could have heard him boasting to his particular bunch of cronies that he had won the bet he had made with one of them; that he’d get the staid Nurse Seymour to go to the ball with him. ‘And I’ll lose her the minute we get there,’ he promised. ‘I’ve never won a fiver so fast!’
But Emily, blissfully unaware of that, worked through the rest of her day with a tiny corner of her mind centred on the new dress she would buy and the impact it would have on everyone who saw it. Something dashing and a bit daring so that everyone would look at her twice. And that included Professor Jurres-Romeijn.
Cycling home later, she allowed the whole of her mind to centre on the important matter of the dress and arrived with her head stuffed with a splendid muddle of daydreams, instantly shattered by Louisa, who met her at the door with an ecstatic: ‘Emily, he’s taking me to the hospital ball—Professor Jurres-Romeijn! He said he hadn’t anyone to go with and would I like to go and I said yes—only I must have a new dress—and sandals and a wrap.’ Her pretty mouth trembled: ‘I must, I must—I’ll die if I can’t!’
A little flicker of rage twisted Emily’s insides and was instantly doused. Louisa was her sister and as pretty as a picture and she deserved all the fun she could get while she was young. The flowered crêpe would have to do—it wasn’t as though anyone would notice her, thought Emily as she said in a steady voice: ‘I’ll see what can be done, love. How much would it all cost?’
‘I’ve seen a dress,’ Louisa was all smiles now, ‘blue organza—quite super.’
‘Yes, but how much?’
‘Sixty pounds.’ She wasn’t going to tell Emily eighty because that sounded too much.
To Emily sixty pounds was bad enough. ‘You’ll have to get sandals from your allowance—there are plenty of cheap ones and no one will see them under a long dress.’
Louisa looked mutinous but agreed quickly. ‘Tracey will lend me that white shawl her mother brought back from Madeira. Oh, Emily darling, won’t it be heavenly? I mean, he’s so good-looking and I’m sure everyone will be jealous…’
Emily didn’t mention Sammy’s invitation; it hardly seemed the right moment. She wept a bit in bed that night; the crêpe, brought from the recesses of the wardrobe, looked limp and old-fashioned and its colour did nothing for her. She could cry off, she supposed, but her friends would want to know why. Before she went to sleep, she got out of bed and took another look at the crêpe. It was awful!
She had a free evening on the day of the ball, and because she had had a busy day she was tired and a little peevish by the time she got home. Louisa was having a bath and the twins were screaming their heads off in their cots, so that Emily had to see to them first. By the time she had settled them again, Louisa had come downstairs, wrapped in a dressing gown, her hair piled on top of her head.
‘I had my bath early,’ she explained, ‘so the water will be hot enough for you—sorry about the twins, they were all right when I left them. Mrs Crewe’s coming at seven, isn’t she? She’ll give them their supper.’
‘They have their supper at six o’clock,’ said Emily crossly. ‘Really, Louisa, you might have got it ready.’
‘How could I? I’ve got to get myself dressed, haven’t I? He’s coming at eight o’clock, and I’ve got my nails to do…’
Emily put on the kettle. A cup of tea might restore her good humour. She wished now that Sammy was coming to fetch her instead of her having to have a taxi back to the hospital, but at least she’d be gone before the Professor arrived for Louisa. She had hardly seen him during the last few days and he hadn’t said a word to her about inviting Louisa. But then why should he?
The tea restored her to a certain extent. She fed the twins, left them in their high chairs while she did her nails, washed her hair and got her things ready before putting them into their cots and having her bath. The water wasn’t hot—it took ages to heat up and now it was tepid, but at least it meant that she didn’t waste time over it. In her dressing gown she did her face carefully, putting on a little too much of everything in her efforts to look like all the other girls, brushed her shining clean hair smooth and put it up, then went downstairs to let Mrs Crewe in. She spent ten minutes showing that lady where everything was and introducing her to William and Claire, then went away to put on her dress.
She wasn’t going to be the belle of the ball, that was for certain; no amount of pressing could conceal its faintly dowdy air. Its round neck, unfashionably modest, needed something to detract from it; the silver locket on its thick chain which she had had from her grandmother years ago. She went to get it and frowned when it wasn’t in its usual place. Surely Louisa wouldn’t have taken it to wear…she crossed the bare little landing and opened her sister’s door.
Louisa was standing in the middle of the room. She looked quite beautiful in the blue organza dress, her hair falling round her shoulders in curls, her face exquisitely made up. In her hands she held a pair of silver sandals—expensive ones—and on the bed was a silver kid evening bag, lying on top of a silver gauze shawl.
‘Louisa…’ began Emily, then stopped while she took it all in. ‘Those sandals—they must have cost the earth—and that bag and the shawl. Where did you get the money?’
Louisa looked scared and then defiant. ‘I don’t see why I should have to wear cheap sandals or borrow Tracey’s silly shawl. I bought these…’
‘I can see that. What with?’
Louisa turned to face her. ‘I sold your silver locket…’
Emily’s wide soft mouth opened with shock. ‘My locket! But it’s mine, you couldn’t sell it!’
‘Well, I did—what’s the use of it to you, and I had to have the right things. I can’t bear cheap clothes… You grudge me everything, just because you’re not pretty, you’re trying to turn me into a dull creature like you.’
Emily di
dn’t answer. She was hurt and bewildered and wildly angry and later, when she felt better about it, she’d have something to say to Louisa. ‘How much did that dress really cost?’ she asked quietly.
‘If you must know—eighty pounds.’
‘And how much did you get for my locket and where did you sell it?’
‘I got eighty pounds for it, at Wetherby’s in the High Street.’
Emily turned on her heel and went back to her room, picked up her winter coat and went downstairs after peeping at the twins, sound asleep.
‘I don’t expect I’ll be very late,’ she told Mrs Crewe. ‘You sure you’ll be all right?’
The older woman smiled at her. ‘Of course, Emily. You go along and enjoy yourself. I used to love the annual ball when I was your age.’ She looked past Emily. ‘Where’s Louisa? Aren’t you going together?’
‘Professor Jurres-Romeijn is coming for her at eight o’clock. I’m going now—there’s the taxi outside—I’m meeting Sammy at the entrance.’
Mrs Crewe didn’t think much of Sammy, but she wasn’t going to spoil Emily’s evening by saying so. ‘Well, have fun, my dear. I’ll see you later.’
Sammy was waiting just inside the hospital entrance and Emily took instant exception to his pink frilled shirt and the way his long hair hung over his collar, but neither that nor his laconic greeting were going to spoil her evening. She greeted him with calm friendliness and went away to take off her coat. The surgeons’ dining room, turned into a temporary cloakroom, was full of women and as far as Emily could see in one hasty glance round, they were all dressed in the height of fashion. No one had a neckline like hers, they all plunged wildly or had no neckline at all. She greeted some of her friends, peeped into the mirror and went back to the entrance.
Dancing was in full swing. Sammy led her straight on to the dance floor, greeting his friends as he went, and began weaving and twisting, not bothering to see if she was following suit, but, frumpy dress and the wrong make-up notwithstanding, Emily followed very nicely; she was a born dancer and presently Sammy paid her the compliment of saying so. ‘Though looking at you, no one would know,’ he assured her.
