by Betty Neels
Almost all the bottles had been sold when Emma caught sight of Justin at the flower stall and she wasn’t really surprised to see that he was escorting the film star. She turned her attention to her bottles, feeling put out while acknowledging the inevitability of it, and to make matters worse, she was forced to hear her companions’ comments on the striking appearance of the two people she had been watching.
‘Made for each other,’ observed Madge. ‘The only snag is, she’s been married twice and is contemplating a third go—what about him?’
She raised inquiring brows at Emma, who handed over a bottle of mustard sauce to a hard-faced woman in a terrible hat before she replied:
‘Not married,’ she answered briefly.
‘Engaged?’ asked someone, and Sybil from the Accident Room chipped in.
‘Don’t tell us you don’t know, Emma—you must have prised something out of him, he’s been to your home and you’ve been out with him. Oh, yes, you’ve been seen, ducky. Is he interested?’
Emma took a small boy’s coin and although he drew a blank ticket she awarded him a bottle of fizzy lemonade because he was looking so hopeful; it gave her time to collect herself too.
‘No, he’s not,’ she said lightly, ‘and he doesn’t talk about himself, but I believe there’s a girl in Holland. I met her while we were on holiday—very dishy.’
‘Aha!’ Madge sounded triumphant. ‘I knew he had a girl, and don’t ask me how I know. There’s something about him—he’s charming and friendly and lovely manners, and all the time you’re aware that you don’t really matter to him. I wonder,’ she went on, ‘what it would be like if you did matter?’ No one had a chance to answer this interesting question, for she added in a hurry, ‘They’re coming over.’
‘Almost sold out?’ inquired the professor pleasantly. He took a handful of change from his pocket. ‘We’ll try our luck, shall we?’ He smiled at the film star, who smiled back, fluttering false eyelashes so skilfully applied that they looked real. He selected some silver and handed it to Madge while the film star clapped her hands and giggled:
‘Oh, I do hope we win the whisky—you must come and help me drink it, Justin.’
‘Justin!’ thought Emma savagely, and choked back a laugh when he won a bottle of vinegar, followed by furniture oil and disinfectant. She handed the prizes over, longing to tell them to go away and share them together, but instead she gave the film star a bright smile and ignored the professor. The film star tinkled with laughter and said helplessly, ‘Oh, dear, I don’t even know what these are for,’ and pushed her spoils across the stall to Emma. ‘You have them, I’m certain you can use them.’
‘No,’ said Emma politely, ‘I don’t have much time for housework, but I’ll put them back on the stall and we can use them again.’ She turned away to give tickets to someone else and when she looked round they had gone. She could just see Justin’s bright head over by the hoop-la stall. They were standing in a group composed of Matron and the hospital Secretary and several members of the Board of Governors, with a sprinkling of local philanthropists. She heard them all laughing as she turned away again to hand a triumphant gentleman in a bright pink shirt a bottle of tomato ketchup. There weren’t many bottles left now and the crowds were thinning. ‘I want my tea,’ said Madge, ‘and I’m going out at seven. What shall we do with what’s over?’
They were debating this when the professor, by himself, joined them.
‘Supposing you sell me the remainder of the tickets,’ he suggested. ‘How many are there left?’
Emma counted, did some arithmetic with the aid of her fingers and said, ‘One pound, thirty-seven and a half pence,’ and gave him the tickets without saying anything else. But when she went to give him change for the two pound notes he offered her and he refused to take it she had to thank him, but he cut her casually short, merely wanting to know what he could expect for his money.
The whisky, of course, the disinfectant and the vinegar and the furniture oil, besides two bottles of bubble bath, some unlikely-looking lemon squash and a very small bottle of eau-de-cologne, and lastly a bottle of soda water.
‘The whisky for me,’ said the professor coolly, and Emma, handing it to him, seethed. He would of course take it with him when he went to visit the film star—probably that very evening. ‘We’ll share the rest,’ he continued pleasantly, and proceeded to hand her the bottle of soda water. The rest he presented to Emma’s friends behind the stall and then, with a genial wave of the hand, strolled away.
They made short work of clearing up after that; it was barely half past six when they reached their sitting-room and, over a pot of tea, discussed the afternoon. They had done well at the bottle stall; now they felt free to go, each her own way, for the remainder of the day. They parted company, complaining a little at the lateness of the hour and what their boyfriends would say at being kept waiting, and Emma, lacking a boy-friend, went upstairs with them, intent on nothing more exciting than a hot bath.
She had been lying in it for perhaps five minutes when there was an urgent knocking on the door and Madge called, ‘Emma? Come out, Emma—you’re wanted!’
‘Who by?’ asked Emma with a sad lack of grammar and without any intention of doing anything of the sort.
‘Professor Teylingen. He’s down in the hall, looking quite immovable—he wants to speak to you.’
‘Not a case? For heaven’s sake, it’s my half day!’
‘I wouldn’t know, he’s hardly the man to shout his wants aloud in the Nurses’ Home.’
Emma muttered crossly to herself, got out of the bath and wrapped herself in a towel. ‘Oh, tell him I’ll be ten minutes at least—and he needn’t think I’m getting back into uniform, for I’m not—he can find someone else if he wants to open theatre. Staff’s on call anyway, why couldn’t he have gone to her?’ She flung open the bathroom door and pattered damply past Madge into her bedroom. ‘And you needn’t laugh like that!’ she snapped, and banged the door.
She didn’t hurry. Almost twenty minutes later she went downstairs, looking rather pink and warm from her bath and wearing a green and white checked dress which made her look ten years younger than she was. Her hair she had tied back with a green velvet ribbon and the whole charming effect was a little marred by her heavy frown.
The professor was in the hall, just as Madge said, looking neither impatient nor annoyed. Indeed he had the air of a man very much at leisure and instead of the urgent request to open the theatre which she was expecting, all he said was, ‘Hullo, Emma—have you got the soda water with you?’
Emma stood on the bottom stair and gaped at him. ‘The what?’ she echoed faintly, her mind still running on emergencies and who could be called back on duty because the night staff would never be on in time.
‘Soda water,’ he repeated patiently. ‘I have the whisky; your mother may not have any soda.’
‘Soda?’ said Emma stupidly. ‘Mother?’
‘Who else should I have intended it for?’ He gave a sudden crack of laughter. ‘Emma, you imagined that I was going to spend my evening with our beauty of this afternoon—now I come to think of it she did suggest it, didn’t she? Is that what you thought?’
Emma took a step backwards up the stairs and didn’t answer.
‘It is?’ He hadn’t moved an inch, but she had the impression that he was looming over her.
‘Well, as a matter of fact, I did think that—after all, she did invite you if you won the whisky, and you did.’
‘So I did. I don’t remember accepting her invitation, though.’
Emma took another step. ‘I’ll get the soda water for you,’ she said, very red in the face, and turned and bolted back to her room.
Downstairs again she said, ‘Here you are,’ rather ungraciously. ‘You said you wanted to see me and I was in the bath—I thought it was a case.’ She scowled.
‘Yes, I know—your hair’s still damp. Now we have to look sharp; we can’t get there and back if we don’t star
t now.’
‘There and back?’ reiterated Emma, her powers of conversation sadly curtailed.
He put the bottle under one arm. ‘I don’t know when you will be free again this week,’ he explained with patience. ‘I thought it might be a good idea to run over to your mother’s this evening—unless,’ he added smoothly, ‘you would prefer to spend it in the bath.’
Emma recognized it as one of the occasions where her spirits were allowed to soar. All the same, she said cautiously, ‘It sounds nice.’
‘It will be nice. No, don’t go upstairs again, you don’t need a handbag, if you want a hanky you can have mine and I’ve money enough for both of us.’ He cast a leisurely eye over her person. ‘You don’t need to do anything else to yourself.’
He urged her through the door and she found herself sitting beside him in the car without having uttered a word. They were across the forecourt and out of the gates, heading west, before she said weakly:
‘Mother’s not expecting us.’
‘No—a nice surprise for her, don’t you agree? We’ll stop at the Compton Arms for a quick meal, shall we?’
Emma nodded, then said, at her most polite, ‘It’s very good of you—I can’t think why…’
‘I feel like a run in the car,’ he offered blandly, ‘and this was the best excuse I could think of for taking one. How much money did the fête make?’
Emma digested the fact that she was an excuse, nothing more. ‘We shan’t know until tomorrow, but I believe everyone is very pleased. I—I thought the film star was very beautiful.’
‘Yes? All those eyelashes, and I’ll swear she was wearing a wig—such a pity, for I must agree with you that she was a most attractive girl. She didn’t need them, she was pretty enough.’
And that’s enough of that, thought Emma, launching into an account of what was to be done with the spoils from the fête. She hadn’t quite finished when he brought the Rolls to a quiet halt in front of the hotel.
‘I don’t know about you,’ said the professor silkily, ‘but I shall be glad of the respite.’
She was mulling this remark over as she allowed herself to be led through the hotel to the bar at the back and out on to the paved terrace beyond it. It was still pleasantly warm and she sat down thankfully on one of the chairs lying around, to be joined presently by Justin carrying lager and followed by a barmaid with a plate of sandwiches. The sandwiches were of a delicious variety and she was hungry. They ate, talking little at first, and then, as their hunger was appeased, embarking on a rambling conversation which embraced most subjects but most of all themselves, their aims, their ideals, their hopes for the future. They had a great deal in common, Emma decided as they got back into the car, to continue the journey, still talking and in perfect harmony.
Mrs Hastings flung the door open as the professor inched the Rolls through the gateway and allowed it to come to a dignified halt.
‘There now!’ she said happily. ‘I was just wondering what sort of a day you had had at the fête, now you can come in and tell me all about it. I’ll make some coffee.’ She embraced Emma, gave a hand to the professor and ushered them into the sitting-room where Justin produced the whisky.
‘Since you couldn’t be there,’ he explained, ‘it seemed only fair to bring you some of the spoils.’
‘Angel!’ declared Mrs Hastings. ‘I shall treasure it against the winter, you dear kind man.’ She put an arm on his well-tailored sleeve and gave him a kiss, and he kissed her back with a warmth which touched Emma’s heart.
‘That was nice,’ said Mrs Hastings with disarming frankness. ‘Sit down and I’ll get the coffee. No, Emma, you sit down too, darling—I shan’t be above five minutes.’
But Emma didn’t sit, she prowled round the room, picking up bits of china and putting them down again, rearranging flowers and generally fidgeting around, and Justin, still standing because she was, watched her from the open door leading to the garden.
‘Restless?’ his voice was casual.
‘Me?’ asked Emma. ‘No.’ She re-did some roses in a vase. ‘Why did you want to come here this evening?’ She gave him a quick glance and saw his eyes narrow with amusement. ‘And you could,’ she went on with asperity, ‘have come without me.’
‘So I could, my dear Emma, but I felt like company—besides, how selfish it would have been of me to leave you sitting in the bath when I could so easily take you with me.’ He was laughing softly.
‘I don’t understand you,’ said Emma in a vexed voice.
‘I don’t intend you to. Now sit down like a good girl and I’ll go and get the coffee tray.’
She sat listening to them talking in the kitchen, and presently they came into the room together on excellent terms with each other. Over coffee Justin described the fête for Mrs Hastings’ benefit; when he came to the bit about the film star Mrs Hastings remarked dryly that he had a very observant eye and he twinkled nicely at her and said:
‘Of course, especially when there are pretty girls around.’
They all laughed, though Emma’s laugh was a little hollow. ‘It’s time you settled down,’ observed Mrs Hastings forthrightly, and when Emma shot her a speaking glance across the little room, said, ‘Don’t look at me like that, Emma. Justin could have been married and had children these last ten years.’
The professor didn’t appear to share Emma’s horror at her mother’s outspokenness. ‘An omission I intend to rectify in the near future,’ he remarked, at his most placid.
‘Splendid.’ Mrs Hastings beamed at him. ‘Who is she—or mustn’t I ask?’
‘You mustn’t ask,’ he answered her smilingly, ‘but I promise I’ll tell you before very long.’
‘And I’ll be the first to congratulate you.’ Emma didn’t see the lightning glance her mother flashed at her before she asked, ‘More coffee?’
She filled his cup and then turned to Emma, sitting curled up on the sofa with Flossie and the cats. ‘You, Emma?’ Justin got up and took her cup for her and when he brought it back sat down beside her with Flossie between them and began to talk about a great many things, not one of which threw any light at all upon himself or his future.
It was almost ten o’clock when Emma said regretfully, ‘There’s a heavy list tomorrow morning—ought we to go, do you think?’
Justin got to his feet. ‘So there is—I had quite forgotten we had decided to do those two cases. Poor Emma, I’m keeping you from your bed.’
He pulled her to her feet, waited patiently while she and her mother embraced, then kissed Mrs Hastings in turn, saying in his quiet way, ‘I seem to be getting into a pleasant habit,’ and smiled at her. ‘I hope we shall meet again soon.’
‘Oh, I expect so,’ declared Mrs Hastings airily. ‘Emma comes home on her weekends, don’t you, dear?’ She turned a limpid gaze upon her daughter. ‘Justin can always come with you—or by himself for that matter.’ She smiled in her turn very sweetly at him. ‘You know you’re welcome.’
In the car, going back through the quiet by-roads to Dorchester he said, ‘Your mother is a delightful woman, Emma, and a happy one despite her circumstances.’
Emma nodded into the semi-dark of the car. ‘Yes, she’s wonderful. She misses my father still—they were so happy. It’s a good thing in a way that we had to leave our home in the village and move to the cottage. At least she hasn’t got a constant reminder.’ She stirred a little and turned to peer at his profile. ‘Thank you for bringing me this evening—it was nice for Mother.’
‘Nice for me too,’ he commented placidly. ‘I enjoy her company. I enjoy yours too, Emma. You fill a gap in my life.’
So that’s it, thought Emma gloomily. I’m a stop-gap, someone to keep him company while he’s away from Saskia. She brooded over this unpleasant idea, so deeply that she failed to notice that the car had slowed down and presently stopped altogether. They were still some miles from Dorchester; the road was narrow, but the grass verges on either side were wide enough. The professor switch
ed off the engine and turned towards her.
‘You don’t believe me, do you, Emma?’ he queried mildly.
‘No,’ said Emma, longing to say yes, and was caught and kissed with a leisurely thoroughness which took her breath and left her speechless.
‘Now do you believe me?’ asked the professor.
She didn’t answer him at once. For one thing, she knew that if she spoke at that moment her voice wouldn’t be quite under control—her heart wasn’t either; somewhere up in her throat, it was beating to deafen her. She took refuge in silence and after a long moment he drew away from her and said gently, ‘All right, Emma—I’ll not ask you that, not just yet, anyway.’
He leaned forward once more and kissed her again, but this time it was as gentle as his voice had been, and as though compelled by some force beyond her control, Emma kissed him back, her thoughts in a turmoil. She made no resistance either when he drew her head down on to his shoulder, but sat quietly listening to his voice, calm and friendly, telling her about his home and the family he no longer had, and presently, greatly daring, she mentioned Saskia by name, but he shrugged the question off with a casual air which she couldn’t be sure wasn’t deliberate, and then changed to the more lighthearted topic of the fête and after that, naturally enough, their work.
It must have been half an hour before he withdrew his arm and started the car again to go on to Dorchester and then tear through the quiet night, still talking with the easy casualness of an old friend. By the time they had reached the hospital, Emma had allowed her natural good sense to overrule the nonsensical ideas which had been swarming in her head and was able to wish him a friendly good night and express her thanks for the trip in a perfectly normal manner before going quietly past the closed doors in the Home to her own room. Once there, she undressed quickly and got into bed, thinking over her evening. An hour later she was still wide awake, having come to the conclusion that she might have enjoyed her evening much more if she hadn’t loved Justin so much, for then she could have accepted his kisses in the light-hearted manner in which they had been given—there was only one thing wrong with this theory, however; his kisses hadn’t been lighthearted at all!
