Emma's Wedding

by Betty Neels

  When Emma answered his ring he said gruffly, ‘A call from Washington, mevrouw. I’m putting it through for you.’

  She had understood most of what he had said, but the woman’s voice in her ear took her by surprise.

  As she was speaking in Dutch, Emma waited until there was a pause in the rather shrill voice.

  ‘I’m sorry, Dr van Dyke is away and I don’t speak Dutch. Will you leave a message? He will be back in a few days.’

  The voice sounded annoyed, snapping, ‘No message.’ Then the caller replaced the receiver.

  Perhaps whoever it was would ring again, thought Emma. When the porter went off duty he would switch the answering machine on and Juffrouw Smit would check it in the morning as she always did.

  Emma got her coat and went into the garden with the dogs. Two letters from America and a phone call within days? They had to be more than coincidence, and surely whoever it was could have at least given their name or a message?

  Emma, usually so matter-of-fact and sensible, allowed her imagination to run riot. If only Roele would phone…

  He did, just as she had finished dinner. He sounded just as he always did, friendly, unhurried. How was she? What had she done with her day?

  She told him, then added, ‘There is another letter for you from America, and this evening a—woman—phoned from Washington. She spoke Dutch. She didn’t give a name and she wouldn’t leave a message.’

  He sounded unconcerned. ‘Oh, yes. I was expecting a call. I’ll get on to Smitty about it. I can’t get away for several days, Emma. I hope that when I do get home we shall have a chance to talk. I’m not prepared to go on as we are.’

  ‘Me too. Goodnight, Roele.’

  Emma knew what she was going to do. She went and sat down at the little walnut Davenport in the sitting room and began to write a letter. The first attempt was no good, nor was the second, while the third was brief, almost businesslike.

  She was going back to Salcombe, she wrote in her rather large writing. She quite realised that their marriage had been a mistake which could luckily be put right. It would have been nice if he had told her himself about Veronique, but luckily she had been told by several people. She quite understood that now Veronique was free he could be happy with his real love.

  It would be quite easy, wrote Emma, writing fast and untidily. She would tell everyone that she had to go back and settle some family business and when she had been away for a week or two he could explain.

  She didn’t pause to consider if he might object to doing this, but signed herself, ‘Your friend Emma’, before putting the letter in an envelope and into a pocket. She would leave it on his desk in the study when she went.

  She sat for a while at the little desk, doodling on the blotting paper, writing his name in various ways, drawing a heart with an arrow piercing it and then adding ‘I love you’ several times.

  ‘I’m a fool,’ said Emma to Percy and Prince, who were watching her anxiously, and she tucked the blotting paper behind the fresh sheets on the pad.

  The letter written, she went to her room and packed a small case and her overnight bag. She counted her money and found her passport, then went back to the small sitting room and lifted the phone.

  It was too late for a flight, but the overnight ferry from the Hoek didn’t leave until midnight. If Kulk drove her in the Rolls she had ample time to get there. There was a helpful girl on the telephone enquiry line, who put her through to the ferry offices, and there was no trouble booking a berth.

  Next she went in search of Kulk. She told him she had had an urgent message from England and must get there as soon as possible. ‘I’ve booked on the Hoek ferry. If you’ll drop me there, Kulk, I can be ready in less than half an hour.’

  ‘The doctor, mevrouw—can you let him know?’

  Emma, embarked on her impetuous plan, allowed the lies to flow easily from her ready tongue. ‘I couldn’t get him, Kulk. He wasn’t at any of the places I enquired at. I left a message and I’ll phone as soon as I reach England.’

  She felt quite sick at the muddle she was weaving, but to get away as quickly as possible was paramount. She had no plan other than that. The future, for the moment, meant nothing to her.

  A worried Kulk drove her to the Hoek, saw her safely on board and turned for home, feeling uneasy.

  At one o’clock in the morning the ferry was making heavy work of the rough weather, and Emma, longing for sleep, was seasick.

  And at one o’clock in the morning the doctor got back home, ruthlessly cutting short the various social occasions and meetings laid on for him now that his patient was on the way to recovery. He hadn’t liked the sound of Emma’s voice on the phone, and his patience was exhausted. He would shake her until her teeth rattled, and then kiss her…

  He frowned as he put his key in the lock of the small side door which he used if he was called out at night. There was a light on in the passage leading to the kitchen, and as he went in Kulk came to meet him.

  ‘Mijnheer, you are back. Thank heaven…’

  ‘Mevrouw? She’s ill? There’s been an accident?’

  ‘No, no.’ Kulk explained, then added, ‘It didn’t seem right that she should go off like that at a moment’s notice. But she insisted. I’ve only been back half an hour or so.’

  They were in the kitchen and Roele sat down at the table.

  ‘Sit down and tell me exactly what happened,’ he begged calmly.

  Kulk put a cup of coffee before him. ‘Upset, she was. Said she couldn’t get you on the phone and in such a hurry to be away.’

  The doctor drank his coffee. He said with outward calm, ‘I dare say there is a letter…’

  He went along to the sitting room and saw the envelope propped up on the Davenport. He sat down to read it. When he had finished he was smiling. This was a tangle easily untangled…

  His eye lighted on the screwed-up papers in the wastepaper basket and he smoothed them out and read them too. Emma had written in a good deal of agitation but her meaning was clear. He saw the pristine blotting paper too, and thoughtfully turned it over.

  He was a tired man, but his wide smile erased the lines etched on his handsome face.

  Kulk came presently, with more coffee and sandwiches.

  ‘Go to bed, Kulk. I shall need you in the morning.’

  He drank his coffee, ate the sandwiches, and went to bed himself, to sleep for the last few hours of the night, knowing exactly what he would do.

  He was up early, but Kulk was waiting, offering breakfast.

  ‘I am going over to England this morning. I’ve arranged for a plane from Schipol and I’ll fly to Plymouth. This is what I want you to do. Take the car over tomorrow morning and drive to Salcombe. Let me know when you get there. I shall be at the end cottage on the Victoria Quay. Take an early ferry and get to Salcombe by early afternoon if you can. I’ll drive back in time to get the late-evening ferry. I shall have mevrouw with me and you can catch up on your sleep in the back of the car.’

  Kulk listened gravely. ‘Very well, Mijnheer. You will need an overnight bag?’

  In the kitchen he confided in Katje that whatever it was that had gone wrong was being put right without loss of time.

  ‘And a good thing, too,’ said Katje. ‘Such a nice young lady she is.’

  Emma, her feet once more on dry land, couldn’t wait to get to the cottage. It would be quiet there and she would be able to think clearly. It had been borne in upon her that she had acted hastily, and perhaps unwisely, but it was too late to have regrets as she began the tedious journey to Salcombe: first to London, on a train which had no refreshment car, let alone coffee or tea, queuing for a taxi to cross London, then finding that she would have to wait for an hour for a fast train to Totnes.

  She had a meal, made up her face, bought magazines which she didn’t read and finally got into the train. It left late and stopped every now and then in the middle of nowhere for no apparent reason, so that by the time she reached Exeter
and found the train to Totnes she was hard put to it not to scream. But at last she was in Totnes, and getting into a taxi to take her the last twenty miles or so to Salcombe.

  It was early evening now, and all she could think of was a large pot of tea and the chance to take off her shoes.

  The taxi dropped her off by the pub and she walked the last short distance along the quay to the cottage. She had the key ready in her hand and unlocked the door with a rush of relief, to be taken aback for the moment by the pleasant warmth of the little room. She switched on the light and caught her breath.

  Lounging comfortably in one of the armchairs was Roele.

  He got to his feet as she stood staring at him. ‘There you are, my dear. You must have had a very tiresome journey.’

  Emma burst into tears and he took her in his arms and held her close. ‘You shouldn’t be here,’ sobbed Emma. ‘I’ve left you. Don’t you understand?’

  ‘One thing at a time,’ said the doctor calmly. ‘I’m here because I love you and you’re here because you love me. Isn’t that right?’

  Emma gave a watery snort. ‘But you don’t love me. There’s this Veronique…’

  He sighed. ‘Ten years ago I believed that I loved her; then she went to America and I haven’t given her a thought since.’

  ‘You met her last year.’

  ‘At a friend’s house—and I hardly remembered her. Just as you don’t remember Derek.’

  ‘She rang up…’

  ‘No, she didn’t. That was the secretary of someone I know in Washington who wants me to do a series of lectures.’

  Emma mopped her face on the handkerchief he offered her. ‘Do you really love me?’

  He looked down at her tired tearstained face. ‘Yes, my darling, I really love you. I fell in love with you at the bakery and from that moment you have taken over my life.’

  ‘Have I? Have I really? Do you know I didn’t know that I loved you, even though I know now that it was when I first saw you? You bought a pasty.’

  ‘My darling girl… And that reminds me. There are pasties for our supper.’

  ‘I’m hungry. Can one be so in love and be hungry too?’

  ‘Undoubtedly.’ He smiled down at her as he unbuttoned her coat and pulled off her gloves. ‘There’s a bottle of champagne too.’

  Later, replete with pasty, pleasantly muzzy with champagne, Emma asked, ‘How do we get home?’

  ‘Kulk is bringing the car; we will drive home tomorrow.’

  ‘Back home,’ said Emma, in a voice so full of content that he felt compelled to sweep her into his arms once more.

  She peered into his face—such a handsome face, tired now, so that he looked older than he was, but happy…

  ‘I am so very happy,’ said Emma, and she kissed him.

  ISBN: 978-1-4603-0318-4

  EMMA’S WEDDING

  Copyright © 2001 by Betty Neels.

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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