by Betty Neels
‘I hate Diana,’ said Emma, and kicked a cushion across the floor. ‘I hope she makes him very unhappy.’ It was a palpable lie which did nothing to restore her spirits.
She didn’t sleep much—she was too busy making plans. Many were wildly unsuitable to begin with, but by the early morning she had discarded most of them in favour of one which seemed to her to be simple and foolproof.
She would give Mrs Parfitt a day off—it would have to be in two days’ time, when Paul had his theatre list and a ward round, which meant he wouldn’t be home before about six o’clock. Once Mrs Parfitt was out of the house she would pack a few things in a suitable bag, write a letter to Paul and one to Mrs Parfitt—the illness of a fictitious aunt would do very well—walk to Bovey Tracey, get a bus down to the main road and another bus to Plymouth.
She could lose herself there and get a job in a restaurant or a hotel—surely there would be temporary jobs in the tourist trade. She would have to buy some kind of a bag—a knapsack would do. In the morning she would take her car into Exeter and get one. It was morning already, she reminded herself, and got up and dressed and did the best she could to disguise her sleepless night.
Sir Paul bade her good morning in his usual manner, remarked on the fine day and studied her tired face. She looked excited, too, in a secret kind of way, as though she were hatching some plot or other. He decided to come home early but told her smoothly when she asked if he would be home for tea that he thought it unlikely, watching the relief on her face.
It was easy to get Mrs Parfitt to take a day off; Emma knew that she wanted to go to Exeter and buy a new hat. ‘Take the whole day,’ she suggested. ‘I might go over to Mrs Postle-Hammett’s—it’s a good walk for the dogs and she’s very fond of them. I’m sure Sir Paul will give you a lift tomorrow morning.’
‘Well, if you don’t mind, ma’am. I must say I’d like a day to shop around.’
‘I’m going to Exeter this morning,’ said Emma. ‘One or two things I want. Do we need anything for the house while I’m there?’
There was nothing needed. She went to her room and got into her jacket, found her car keys and drove herself to Exeter. She soon found exactly what she wanted in a funny little shop at the bottom of the high street, walked back to the car park in Queen Street and on the way came face to face with Maisie.
‘Come and have a cup of coffee?’ said Emma. She was glad to see her and steered her into a café. ‘Aren’t you at the nursery any more?’
‘Leaving on Saturday,’ said Maisie and looked coy. ‘Getting married, yer see.’
‘On Saturday? Oh, Maisie, I am glad; I hope you’ll both be very happy. In church?’
‘Baptist. Just the kids and ‘is mum and dad.’ Masie sugared her coffee lavishly. ‘Saw yer old man at the nursery—leastways, ‘eard ‘im. In a bit of a rage, it sounded like, and that Diana going ‘ammer and tongs. Sounded all tearful she did—kept saying, “Oh, Paul, oh, Paul.” Didn’t come to work today neither. Nasty piece of work she is; turns on the charm like I switches on the electric.’
‘She’s very attractive,’ said Emma, and felt sick. So, he was still seeing Diana; it was a good thing she had decided to go…
‘Suppose so,’ said Maisie. ‘Leastways, to men. Good thing you’re married to yer old man!’
She chuckled and Emma managed a laugh. ‘Yes, isn’t it? Tell me what you’re going to wear…’
Which filled the next ten minutes very nicely before Maisie declared that she still had some shopping to do.
‘We’ll ‘ave some photos,’ she promised. ‘I’ll send you one.’
‘Please do, Maisie, and it was lovely meeting you like that.’
They said goodbye and Emma went back to the car and drove home. The small hopeful doubt she had had about leaving had been doused by Maisie’s news. Tomorrow she would go.
She was surprised when Paul came home at teatime, but she greeted him in what she hoped was a normal voice, and, when he asked her, told him that she had been to Exeter—’One or two things I wanted’—and had met Maisie. Maisie’s approaching wedding made a good topic of conversation; Emma wore it threadbare and Paul, listening to her repeating herself, decided that whatever it was she was planning it wouldn’t be that evening.
He went to his study presently and spent some time on the phone rearranging the next day’s work. When his receptionist complained that he had several patients to see on the following afternoon he told her ruthlessly to change their appointments. ‘I must have the whole of tomorrow afternoon and evening free,’ he told her, and then spent ten minutes charming Theatre Sister into altering his list.
‘I’ll start at eight o’clock instead of nine,’ he told her, and, since she liked him and admired him, she agreed, aware that it would mean a good deal of rearranging for her to do.
As for his registrar, who admired him too, he agreed cheerfully to take over out-patients once the ward-round was done.
Sir Paul ate his supper, well aware that he had done all he could to avert whatever disaster his Emma was plotting.
* * *
The cottage seemed very empty once Paul and Mrs Parfitt had gone the next morning. It was still early; she had all day before her. Emma took the dogs for a long walk, went from room to room tidying up, clearing the breakfast things Mrs Parfitt hadn’t had the time to do, and then she sat down to write her letters.
This took her a long time, for it was difficult to write exactly what she wanted to say to Paul. She finished at last, wrote a letter to Mrs Parfitt about the sick aunt and went to pack her knapsack. Only the necessities went into it—her lavish wardrobe she left. She left her lovely sapphire and diamond ring too, putting it in its little velvet box on the tallboy in his dressing-room.
She wasn’t hungry but she forced herself to eat some lunch, for she wasn’t sure where she would get her supper. She had some money too—not very much but enough to keep her for a week, and as soon as she had a job she would pay it back; she had been careful to put that in her letter.
It was going on for three o’clock by then. She got her jacket, changed into sensible shoes, took the dogs for a quick run and then carefully locked up the house. It only remained for her to take her letter and leave it in Paul’s study.
She left the knapsack in the hall with Mrs Parfitt’s letter and went to the study. The letter in her hand, she sat for a moment in his chair, imagining him sitting in it presently, reading her letter, and two tears trickled down her cheeks. She wiped them away, got out of the chair and went round the desk and leaned over to prop the letter against the inkstand.
Sir Paul’s hand took it gently from her just as she set it down, and for a moment she didn’t move. The sight of the sober grey sleeve, immaculate linen and gold cufflinks, and his large, well-kept hand appearing from nowhere, had taken her breath, but after a moment she turned round to face him. ‘Give it to me, please, Paul.’ Her voice was a whisper.
‘But it is addressed to me, Emma.’
‘Yes, yes, I know it is. But you weren’t to read it until after…’
‘You had gone?’ he added gently. ‘But I am here, Emma, and I am going to read it.’
The door wasn’t very far; she took a step towards it but he put out an arm and swept her close. ‘Stay here where you belong,’ he said gently and, with one arm holding her tight, he opened the letter.
He read it and then read it again, and Emma tried to wriggle free.
‘Well, now you know,’ she said in a watery voice. ‘What are you going to do about it? I didn’t mean to fall in love with you—it—it was an accident; I didn’t know it would be so—so…What are you going to do, Paul?’
His other arm was round her now. ‘Do? Something I wanted to do when I first saw you.’ He bent and kissed her, taking his time about it.
Emma said shakily, ‘You mustn’t—we mustn’t—what about Diana?’
‘I can see that we shall have to have a cosy little talk, my darling, but not yet.’ He kissed her aga
in. ‘I’ve always loved you. You didn’t know that, did you? I didn’t tell you, for I hurried you into marriage and you weren’t ready for me, were you? So I waited, like a fool, and somehow I didn’t know what to do.’
‘It was me,’ said Emma fiercely into his shoulder. ‘I listened to Diana and I don’t know why I did. I suppose it was because I love you and I want you to be happy, and I thought it was her and not me.’ She gave a great sniff. ‘She’s so beautiful and clever and the babies were darlings and she told me to go to the travellers’ camp…’
Sir Paul, used to the occasional incoherence of his patients, sorted this out. ‘Darling heart, you are beautiful and honest and brave, and the only woman I have ever loved or could love.’ He gave a rumble of laughter. ‘And you shall have a darling baby of your own…’
‘Oh, I shall love that—we’ll share him. Supposing he’s a girl?’
‘In that case we must hope that we will be given a second chance.’
His arms tightened round her and she looked up at him, smiling. ‘We’ll start all over again—being married, I mean.’
He kissed her once more. ‘That idea had occurred to me too.’
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“YOU’RE A VERY popular lady,” Jed Kelley observed.as Augustina closed the door on her suitors.
She waved a hand. “Just two of a dozen.” Technically true since her grandmother had put her on the open market. “You’re not afraid of a little competition, are you?”
“Competition?” He looked puzzled. “I thought the position was mine.”
Augustina shook her head, smiling coyly. “You didn’t think Grandmother was the final arbiter of the decision, did you? I say a trial period is in order.” No matter that Jed Kelley had miraculously passed Grandmother’s muster, Augustina felt the need for a little propriety. But, on the other hand, she could be married before the summer was out and be free as a bird, with the added bonus of a husband it wouldn’t be all that difficult to learn to love.
She got up the courage to reach for his hand, and then just like that, she—Miss Gussy Gutless Fairchild—was holding Jed Kelley’s hand. He looked down at their linked hands. “Of course, you don’t really know what sort of work I can do, do you?”
A funny way to put it, she thought absently, cradling his callused hand between both of her own. “We can get to know each other, and then, if that works out…” she murmured. Wow. If she’d known what this arranged marriage thing was all about, she’d have been a supporter of Grandmother’s campaign from the start!
“Are you a palm reader?” Jed asked gruffly. His” voice was as raspy as sandpaper and it was rubbing her all the right ways, but the question flustered her. She dropped his hand.
“I’m sorry.
“No problem,” he said, “as long as I’m hired.”
“Hired!” she scoffed. “What a way of putting it!”
Jed folded his arms across his chest. “So we’re back to the trial period.”
“Yes.” Augustina frowned and her gaze dropped to his work boots. Okay, so he wasn’t as well off as the majority of her suitors, but really, did he think she was going to pay him to marry her?
“Fine, then.” He flipped her a wave and, speechless, she watched him leave. She was trembling all over like a malaria victim in a snowstorm, shot with hot charges and cold shivers until her brain was numb. This couldn’t be true. Fantasy men didn’t happen to nice girls like her.
“Augustina?”
Her grandmother’s voice intruded on Gussy’s privacy. “Ahh. There you are. I see you met the new gardener?”
ISBN: 9781408983133
The Right Kind of Girl
© Betty Neels 1995
First Published in Great Britain in 1993
Harlequin (UK) Limited
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