by Betty Neels
Early the following week he drove her to Buckfastleigh. ‘You’re having coffee with Doreen Hervey,’ he told her. ‘Unless you want to come with me to the solicitor and house agent. Will you stay with her until I fetch you?’
‘Should I go with you?’
‘Not unless you wish to. From what you have told me, everything is settled and you can sell your house. The solicitor has already been in contact with the house agent, hasn’t he? It’s just a question of tying up the ends. Would you like to go there and see if there’s anything you want to keep? There’s plenty of room at the cottage.’
‘You’re talking as though we are going to be married.’
For a moment he covered her clasped hands with one of his. He said quietly, ‘Say yes, Emma, and trust me.’
She turned her head to gaze at his calm face. He was not looking at her, but watching the road ahead. Of course she trusted him; he was the nicest person she had ever met, and the kindest.
‘I do trust you,’ she told him earnestly, ‘and I’ll marry you and be a good wife.’
He gave her a quick glance—so quick that she hadn’t time to puzzle over the look on his face. She dismissed it, suddenly filled quite joyously with quiet content.
CHAPTER FIVE
EMMA and Paul had a lot to talk about as he drove back later that day. Everything, he assured her, was arranged; it was now only a question of selling the house.
He had settled the few debts, paid the outstanding bills and returned to Doreen Hervey’s house, where he found Emma in the nursery, hanging over Bart’s cot, heedless of Nanny’s disapproval.
Mrs Hervey, sitting meekly in the chair Nanny had offered, had been amused. ‘Wait till you’ve got one of your own,’ she had said.
Emma had turned her face away, her cheeks warm, and listened thankfully to his easy, ‘One would imagine that you were worn to a thread looking after Bart, Doreen. When will Mike be home?’
He had taken her to her house then, and helped her decide which small keepsakes she wished to have—a few pieces of silver, some precious china, her mother’s little Victorian work table, her father’s silver tankard, photos in old silver frames.
Standing in the small sitting-room, she had asked diffidently, ‘Would you mind if Mr Dobbs and Cook and Alice came and chose something? They were very kind to me and to Mother…’
‘Of course. We’ll take the car and fetch them now.’
‘Mrs Smith-Darcy will never let them come.’
‘Leave it to me. You stay here and collect the things you want while I bring them here.’
She didn’t know what he had said but they were all there within twenty minutes, and she had left them to choose what they wanted.
‘If I could have some of Mrs Trent’s clothes?’ Alice had whispered. Alice was the eldest of numerous children, whose wages went straight into the family purse. She had gone away delighted, with Cook clutching several pictures she had fancied. As for Mr Dobbs, he had had an eye on the clock in the kitchen for a long time, he had told her.
Sir Paul had taken them all back and mentioned casually on his return that he had arranged to send everything but the furniture to a charity shop. Emma had been dreading packing up her mother’s clothes and the contents of the linen cupboard. She had thanked him with gratitude.
He had popped her back into the car then, taken her to Buckland in the Moor and given her lunch at the country hotel there. She had been conscious that her first sharp grief had given way to a gentle sorrow and she had been able to laugh and talk and feel again. She had tried to thank him then. ‘I told you that I would never be able to repay you for all you did for Mother, and now I’m doubly in your debt.’
He had smiled his kind smile. ‘Shall we cry quits? After all, I’m getting a wife, am I not? And I fancy the debt should be mine.’
That evening, as they sat round the fire, with the dogs and Queenie sprawling at their feet, he suggested that they might go to Exeter on the following day. ‘You have plenty of money now,’ he reminded her, and when she told him that she had only a few pounds he said, ‘You forget your house. Supposing I settle any bills for the present and you pay me when it is sold?’
‘I already owe you money for the solicitor and all these debts…’
‘You can easily repay those also, but all in good time. I’m sure that the house will sell well enough.’
‘Thank you so much, then; I do need some clothes.’
‘I have yet to meet a woman who didn’t. At the same time we might decide on a date for our wedding. There is no point in waiting, is there? Will you think about it and let me know what you would like to do?’
When she didn’t reply he went on quietly, ‘Supposing we go along and see the vicar? He can read the banns; that will give you three weeks to decide on a date. It will also give you a breathing-space to think things over.’
‘You mean if I should want to back out?’
‘Precisely.’ He was smiling at her.
‘I’ll not do that,’ said Emma.
She was uncertain what to buy and sat up in bed that night making a list. Good clothes, of course, suitable for the wife of a consultant surgeon and at the same time wearable each day in the country. ‘Tweeds,’ she wrote. ‘Suit and a top-coat’—even though spring was well settled in it could be cold on the moor.
One or two pretty dresses, she thought, and undies, shoes—and perhaps she could find a hat which actually did something for her. She would need boots and slippers—and should she look for something to wear in the evenings? Did those people she’d met at the church give parties or rather grand dinners?
She asked Paul at breakfast. He was a great help.
‘The dinner parties are usually formal—black tie and so on, short frocks for the ladies. I suppose because we tend to make our own amusements, celebrating birthdays and so on. But more often, as far as I remember, the ladies wear pretty dresses. You’ll need a warm wrap of some kind, though, for the evening. It’ll stay chilly here for some time yet.’ He looked across at her list. ‘Don’t forget a warm dressing-gown and slippers.’
‘I need rather a lot…’
‘You have plenty of money coming to you.’
‘How much should I spend?’
He named a sum which left her open-mouthed. ‘But that’s hundreds and hundreds!’
Poker-faced, he observed that good clothes lasted a long time and were more economical in the long run.
‘You really don’t mind lending me the money?’
‘No. I’ll come with you and write the cheques. If you outrun the constable, I’ll warn you.’
Thus reassured, Emma plunged into her day’s shopping. She would have gone to one of the department stores but Paul took her instead to several small, elegant and very expensive boutiques. Even with a pause for coffee, by lunchtime she had acquired a tweed suit, a cashmere top-coat—its price still made her feel a little faint—more skirts, blouses and sweaters, a windproof jacket to go with them, and two fine wool dresses.
When she would have chosen shades which she considered long-wearing he had suggested something more colourful—plaids, a dress in garnet-red, another in turquoise and various shades of blue, silk blouses in old rose, blue and green, and a dress for the dinner parties— a tawny crêpe, deceptively simple.
He took her to lunch then. Watching her crossing through her list, he observed, ‘A good waterproof, don’t you think? Then I’ll collect the parcels and go to the car and leave you to buy the rest. Will an hour be enough?’
‘Yes, oh, yes.’ She paused, wondering how she should tell him that she had barely enough money to buy stockings, let alone undies and a dressing-gown.
‘You’ll need some money.’ He was casual about it, handing her a roll of notes. ‘If it isn’t enough we can come again tomorrow.’
They bought the raincoat, and a hat to go with it, before he left her at a department store. ‘Don’t worry about the time; I’ll wait,’ he told her, and waited until she was in
side.
Before she bought anything she would have to count the notes he had given her. There was no one else in the Ladies, and she took the roll out of her handbag. The total shocked her—she could have lived on it for months. At the same time it presented the opportunity for her to spend lavishly.
Which she did. Might as well be hung for a sheep as for a lamb, she reflected, choosing silk and lace undies, a quilted dressing-gown, and matching up stockings with shoes and the soft leather boots she had bought. Even so, there was still money in her purse. Laden with her purchases, she left the shop and found Paul waiting for her.
He took her packages from her. ‘Everything you need for the time being?’ he asked.
‘For years,’ she corrected him. ‘I’ve had a lovely day, Paul; you have no idea. There’s a lot of money left over…’
‘Keep it. I’m sure you’ll need it.’ He glanced sideways at her. ‘Before we marry,’ he added.
It was at breakfast the next morning that he told her that he would be away for a few days. ‘I have an appointment in Edinburgh which I must keep,’ he told her. ‘If you want to go to Exeter for more shopping ask Truscott at the garage to drive you there and bring you back here. I’ll have a word with him before I go.’
‘Thank you.’ She was very conscious of disappointment but all she said was, ‘May I take the dogs out?’
‘Of course. I usually walk them to Lustleigh Cleave in the early morning. If it’s clear weather you’ll enjoy a good walk on the moor.’
‘I can christen the new tweeds,’ said Emma soberly. He wouldn’t be there to see them; she had been looking forward to astonishing him with the difference in her appearance when she was well-dressed. That would have to wait now. ‘You’re leaving today?’
‘In an hour or so. Mrs Parfitt will look after you, Emma, but feel free to do whatever you like; this house will be your home as well as mine.’
He had gone by mid-morning, and when she had had coffee with Mrs Parfitt she went to her room with Queenie and tried on her new clothes.
They certainly made a difference; their colours changed her ordinary features to near prettiness and their cut showed off her neat figure. It was a pity that Paul wasn’t there to see the chrysalis changing into a butterfly. She had to make do with Queenie.
She had to admit that by teatime, even though she had filled the rest of the day by taking the dogs for a long walk, she was missing him, which was, of course, exactly what he had intended.
Mrs Parfitt, when Emma asked her the next day, had no idea when he would be back. ‘Sir Paul goes off for days at a time,’ she explained to Emma. ‘He goes to other hospitals, and abroad too. Does a lot of work in London, so I’ve been told. Got friends there too. I dare say he’ll be back in a day or two. Why not put on one of your new skirts and that jacket and go down to the shop for me and fetch up a few groceries?’
So Emma went shopping, exchanging good mornings rather shyly with the various people she met. They were friendly, wanting to know if she liked the village and did she get on with the dogs? She guessed that there were other questions hovering on their tongues but they were too considerate to ask them.
Going back with her shopping, she reflected that, since she had promised to marry Paul, it might be a good thing to do so as soon as possible. He had told her to decide on a date. As soon after the banns had been read as could be arranged—which thought reminded her that she would certainly need something special to wear on her wedding-day.
Very soon, she promised herself, she would get the morning bus to Exeter and go to the boutique Paul had taken her to. She had plenty of money still—her own money too…Well, almost her own, she admitted, once the house was sold and she had paid him back what she owed him.
The time passed pleasantly, her head filled with the delightful problem of what she would wear next, and even the steady rain which began to fall as she walked on the moor with the dogs did nothing to dampen her spirits.
She got up early and took them out for a walk before her breakfast the next day and then, with Mrs Parfitt’s anxious tut-tutting because she wouldn’t get the taxi from the garage ringing in her ears, she got on the bus.
It was a slow journey to the city, since the bus stopped whenever passengers wished to get on or off, but she hardly noticed, and when it arrived at last she nipped smartly away, intent on her search for the perfect wedding-outfit.
Of course, she had had her dreams of tulle veils and elaborate wedding-dresses, but theirs wasn’t going to be that sort of wedding. She should have something suitable but pretty, and, since she had an economical mind, something which could be worn again.
The sales lady in the boutique remembered her and nodded her head in satisfaction at the vast improvement in Emma’s appearance now that she was wearing the tweed suit. The little hat she had persuaded her to buy had been just right…She smiled encouragingly. ‘If I may say so, madam, that tweed is exactly the right colour for you. How can I help you?’
‘I want something to wear at my wedding,’ said Emma, and went delightfully pink.
The sales lady concealed a sentimental heart under her severely corseted black satin. She beamed a genuine smile. ‘A quiet wedding? In church?’
Emma nodded. ‘I thought a dress and jacket and a hat…’
‘Exactly right, madam, and I have just the thing, if you will take a seat.’
Emma sat and a young girl came with the first of a selection of outfits. Very pretty, but blue would look cold in the church. And the next one? Pink, and with rather too many buttons and braid for her taste—it was too frivolous. The third one was the one—winter white in a fine soft woollen material, it had a short jacket and a plain white sheath of a dress.
‘I’ll try that one,’ said Emma.
It fitted, but she had known that it would. Now that she was wearing it she knew that it was exactly what she had wanted.
The sales lady circled her knowingly. ‘Elegant and feminine. Madam has a very pretty figure.’
‘I must find a hat…’
‘No problem. These outfits for special occasions I always team up with several hats so that the outfit is complete.’ She waved a hand at the girl, who opened drawers and tenderly lifted out a selection and offered them one by one.
Emma, studying her reflection, gave a sigh. ‘I’m so plain,’ she said in a resigned voice, and removed a confection of silk flowers and ribbon from her head.
The sales lady was good at her job. ‘If I may say so, madam, you have fine eyes and a splendid complexion. Perhaps something…Ah, I have it.’
It looked nothing in her hand—white velvet with a pale blue cord twisted round it—but on Emma’s head it became at once stylish, its small soft brim framing her face.
‘Oh, yes,’ said Emma, and then rather anxiously, ‘I hope I have enough money with me.’
The older woman waved an airy hand. ‘Please do not worry about that, madam. Any money outstanding you can send to me when you return home.’
Emma took off the hat and, while it and the outfit were being packed up, counted the money in her purse. There was more than enough when she was presented with the bill. She paid, feeling guilty at spending such a great deal of money. On the other hand she wanted to look her very best on her wedding-day. They would be happy, she promised herself, and stifled the sadness she felt that her mother wouldn’t see her wed.
There were still one or two small items that she needed. She had coffee and then bought them, and by that time she was hungry. She had soup and a roll in a small café tucked away behind the high street and then, since the bus didn’t leave for another hour or so, wandered round the shops, admiring the contents of their windows, thinking with astonishment that, if she wanted, she could buy anything she desired, within reason. She would have plenty of money of her own when the house was sold; she would get Paul to invest it in something safe and use the interest. She need never ask him for a penny, she thought, and fell to wondering where he was and what he was do
ing.
Sir Paul, already on his way back from Edinburgh, had turned off the main road to pay a visit to his mother and father, and, as he always did, gave a smile of content as he took the Rolls between the gateposts and along the short drive which led to their home—an old manorhouse built of Cotswold stone, mellow with age and surrounded by a large, rambling garden which even at the bleakest time of year looked charming.
One day it would be his, but not for many years yet he hoped, catching sight of his father pottering in one of the flowerbeds. He drew up before the door, got out and went to meet him and together they walked to the house, going in through the garden door. ‘My dirty boots, Paul; your mother will turn on me if I go in through the front door.’
They both laughed. His mother, to the best of his knowledge, had never turned on anyone in her life. She came to meet them now. Of middle height, rather stout and with a sweet face framed by grey hair stylishly dressed, she looked delighted to see him.
‘Paul—’ she lifted her face for his kiss ‘—how lovely to see you. Are you back at work again? Going somewhere or coming back?’
‘Coming back. I can’t stay, my dear, I need to get home—but may I come next weekend and bring the girl I’m going to marry to meet you both?’
‘Marry? Paul—is it anyone we know?’
‘No, I think not She has lived at Buckfastleigh all her life except for her time at boarding-school. Her mother died recently. I hope—I think you will like her.’
‘Pretty?’ asked his mother.
‘No—at least, she has a face you can talk to—peaceful—and she listens. Her eyes are lovely and she is also sensible and matter-of-fact.’
He didn’t look like a man in love, reflected his mother. On the other hand, he was of an age to lose his heart for the rest of his life and beyond; she only hoped that she was the right girl. He had from time to time over the years brought girls to his parents’ home and she hadn’t liked any of them. They had all been as pretty as pictures, but he hadn’t been in love with any of them.
