The Mistletoe Kiss

by The Mistletoe Kiss (lit)

  * * *

  Her mother and father, when she told them on Sunday answered exactly as she had known they would. Her mother said, 'Wear a warm coat, dear, it gets chilly in the afternoons.'

  Her father said, 'Good idea—enjoy yourself, Emmy!'

  Her parents were going to Coventry on the following day—the last week away from home, her mother assured her, for her father would be round and about London after that. 'You're sure you don't mind?' she asked anxiously. 'I know you're busy all day, but it's lonely for you, especially in the evenings.'

  'Mother, I've heaps to do, honestly, and I'll get the garden tidied up for the winter.' Though the garden was a miserably small patch of grass surrounded by narrow flowerbeds which Emmy would hopefully plant.

  The professor arrived punctually, exchanged suitable and civil remarks with her mother and father and ushered Emmy into the car. She had gone to great pains to improve her appearance. True, her jacket and skirt were off the peg, bought to last, and therefore a useful brown—a colour which didn't suit her. But the cream blouse under the jacket was crisp, and her gloves and shoulder bag were leather, elderly but well cared for. Since her brown shoes were well-worn loafers, she had borrowed a pair of her mother's. Court shoes with quite high heels. They pinched a bit, but they looked all right.

  The professor, eyeing her unobtrusively, was surprised to find himself wishing that some fairy godmother would wave a wand over Emmy and transform the brown outfit into something pretty. He was surprised, too, that she wore her clothes with an air—when he had thought about it, and that hadn't been often, he had supposed that she had little interest in clothes. He saw now that he was wrong.

  He made casual conversation as he drove, and Emmy replied cautiously, not at all at her ease, wishing she hadn't come. Once they had reached the dogs' home she forgot all about that. She had never seen so many dogs, nor heard such a concert of barking.

  They went to and fro looking at doggy faces, some pressed up to the front of their shelters, eager for attention, others sitting indifferently at the back. 'They're pretending that they don't mind if no one wants them,' said Emmy. 'I wish we could have them all.'

  The professor smiled down at her. Her face was alight with interest and compassion and, rather to his surprise, didn't look in the least plain.

  'I'm afraid one is the best I can do. Have you seen a dog which you think might suit me? There are so many, I have no preference at the moment.'

  They had stopped in front of a shelter to watch the antics of an overgrown puppy, chosen by a family of children and expressing his delight. There were a lot of dogs; Emmy looked at them all and caught the eye of a large woolly dog with the kindly face of a labrador and a tremendous sweeping tail. He was sitting in the corner, and it was obvious to her that he was too proud to attract attention. Only his eyes begged her…

  'That one,' said Emmy. 'There.'

  The professor studied the dog. 'Yes,' he said. 'That's the one.'

  The dog couldn't have heard them, but he came slowly to the front of the shelter and wagged his tail, staring up at them. When, after the necessary formalities had been gone through, the professor fastened a new collar round the dog's powerful neck, he gave a small, happy bark.

  'You see?' said Emmy. 'He knew you'd have him. He's so lovely. Did they say what breed he was?'

  'Well, no. There is some uncertainty. He was left to fend for himself until some kind soul brought him here. He's been here for some time. He's rather on the large side for the average household.'

  They got into the car, and the dog settled warily on a blanket on the back seat.

  'You do like him?' Emmy asked anxiously.

  'Yes. An instant rapport. I can only hope that Beaker will feel the same way.'

  'Beaker?'

  'Yes, my man. He runs the house for me. Did I mention him when I told you about Humphrey? He's a splendid fellow.'

  He drew up in front of his house and Emmy said, 'Oh, is this where you live? It's not like London at all, is it? Is there a garden?'

  'Yes—come and see it?'

  'I'd like to, but you'll have a lot to do with the dog, and you have a day off today, too, haven't you?'

  He said gravely that, yes, he had, but he was doing nothing else with it. 'So please come in and meet Beaker and Humphrey and help me to get this beast settled in.'

  Beaker, opening the door, did no more than lift a dignified eyebrow at the sight of the dog. He bowed gravely to Emmy and shook the hand she offered. 'A handsome beast,' he pronounced. 'Straight into the garden, sir?'

  'Yes, Beaker. He's been at the home for a long time so he's a bit uncertain about everything. Ten minutes in the garden may help. Then tea, if you please.'

  Beaker slid away and the professor led Emmy across the hall, into the sitting room and out of the French window into the garden. For London it was quite large, with a high brick wall and one or two trees—a mountain ash, a small silver birch, bare of leaves now, and a very old apple tree.

  The dog needed no urging to explore, and Emmy said, 'Oh, how delightful. It must look lovely in the spring—lots of bulbs?'

  When he nodded, watching her face, she added, 'And an apple tree. We used to have several…'

  'You had a large garden?' he asked gently.

  'Yes. A bit rambling, but everything grew. It was heaven to go out in the morning. And the air—there isn't much air here, is there? Well, not around St Luke's.' She turned away, annoyed with herself for saying so much, as though she had asked to be pitied. 'What will you call him?'

  'I was hoping you would think of a name.'

  'Something dignified and a bit regal to make up for his unhappy life.' She thought about it. 'No, it should be a name that sounds as though he's one of the family. Charlie—when I was a little girl I wanted a brother called Charlie.'

  'Charlie it shall be.' The professor called the dog, and he came at once, lolloping across the lawn, his tongue hanging out, his preposterous tail waving.

  'You see?' said Emmy happily. 'He knows.'

  The professor put a gentle hand on Charlie's woolly head. 'I think he has earned his tea, don't you? Let us go indoors; we've earned ours, too.'

  'Oh, well,' said Emmy. 'I didn't mean to stay, only to see your garden.'

  'Charlie and I will be deeply offended if you don't stay for tea. What is more, Beaker will think his efforts aren't sufficiently tempting.'

  Not meaning to, she smiled at him. 'Tea would be very nice.'

  They had it in the sitting room, sitting by the fire with Beaker's efforts on a low table between them. Tiny sandwiches, fairy cakes, a chocolate cake and miniature macaroons, flanked by a silver teapot and paper-thin china cups and saucers.

  Charlie, mindful of his manners, sat himself carefully down before the fire, hopeful eyes on the cake. Presently Beaker opened the door and Humphrey came in, circled the room slowly and finally sat down beside Charlie. He ignored the dog and stared into the flames, and Emmy said anxiously, 'Will they get on, do you think?'

  'Yes. Humphrey has no intention of losing face, though. Charlie will have to play second fiddle.'

  'Oh, well, I don't suppose he'll mind now he has a family of his own. Will your fiancée like him?'

  The professor bit into some cake. 'No. I'm afraid not.'

  When Emmy looked concerned he added, 'I spend a good deal of the year in Holland and, of course, Charlie will stay here with Beaker.'

  She poured second cups. 'Do you have a dog in Holland?'

  'Two. A Jack Russell and an Irish wolfhound.'

  She wanted to ask him about his home in Holland, but although he was friendly he was also aloof. Emmy, willing and eager to be friends with everyone, found that daunting. Besides, she wasn't sure what to make of him. In his company she was happy even when they weren't on the best of terms, but away from him, looking at him from a distance as it were, she told herself that there was no point in continuing their friendship—if it could be called that.

  Tea finished,
she said a little shyly, 'I think I had better go home, Professor. Mother and Father are going to Coventry in the morning. It will be Father's last job away from home.'

  'He enjoys his work?' the professor asked idly.

  'He'd rather be a schoolmaster, and not in London.'

  'If he were to get a post in the country, you would go with your parents?'

  'Yes, oh, yes. I expect I'd have to look for another kind of job. I like needlework and sewing. I expect I could find work in a shop or helping a dressmaker.' She added defiantly, 'I like clothes…'

  He prudently kept silent about that. He had a brief memory of Anneliese, exquisitely turned out in clothes which must have cost what to Emmy would have been a small fortune. Emmy, he reflected, would look almost pretty if she were to dress in the same way as Anneliese dressed.

  He didn't ask her to stay, but waited while she said goodbye to Charlie and Humphrey and thanked Beaker for her tea, and then went with her to the car.

  The streets were almost empty on a late Sunday afternoon and the journey didn't take long. At the house he declined her hesitant offer to go in. He opened her door, thanked her for her help, still standing on the pavement in the dull little street, and waited while she opened the house door and went inside.

  Driving back home, he reflected that he had enjoyed his afternoon with Emmy. She was a good companion; she didn't chat and she was a good listener, and when she did have something to say it was worth listening to. He must remember to let her know from time to time how Charlie progressed.

  * * *

  A pleasant afternoon, Emmy told her parents, and the dog, Charlie, was just what she would have chosen for herself. 'And I had a lovely tea,' she told them. 'The professor has a man who runs his home for him and makes the most delicious cakes.'

  'A nice house?' asked her mother.

  Emmy described it—what she had seen of it—and the garden as well.

  'It's not like London,' she told them. 'In the garden you might be miles away in the country.'

  'You miss our old home, don't you, Emmy?' her father asked.

  'Yes, I do, but we're quite cosy here.' Empty words which neither of them believed.

  'I dare say the professor will tell you how the dog settles down,' observed her mother.

  'Perhaps.' Emmy sounded doubtful.

  * * *

  She didn't see him for several days, and when he at length stopped to speak to her on his way home one evening, it was only to tell her that Charlie was nicely settled in.

  'A very biddable animal,' he told her. 'Goes everywhere with me.'

  He bade her good evening in a frosty voice and went away, leaving her wondering why he was so aloof.

  He's had a busy day, reflected Emmy, he'll be more friendly in the morning.

  Only in the morning he wasn't there. Audrey, who always knew the latest gossip, told her as she took over that he had gone to Birmingham.

  'Gets around, doesn't he? Going back to Holland for Christmas too. Shan't see much of him—not that he's exactly friendly. Well, what do you expect? He's a senior consultant and no end of a big noise.'

  Which was, Emmy conceded, quite true. And a good reason for remembering that next time he might pause for a chat. He was beginning to loom rather large on the edge of her dull, humdrum life, which wouldn't do at all. Sitting there at her switchboard, she reminded herself that they had nothing in common—Well, Charlie perhaps, and being in the hospital when the bomb went off.

  Besides, she reminded herself bitterly, he considered her plain and dowdy. If I could spend half as much on myself as that Anneliese of his, reflected Emmy waspishly, I'd show him that I'm not in the least dowdy, and a visit to a beauty salon would work wonders even with a face like mine.

  Since neither of their wishes were likely to be fulfilled, she told herself to forget the professor; there were plenty of other things to think about.

  It was a pity that she couldn't think of a single one of them—within minutes he was back in her thoughts, making havoc of her good resolutions.

  * * *

  She was in the professor's thoughts too, much to his annoyance. The tiresome girl, he reflected, and why do I have this urge to do something to improve her life? For all I know she is perfectly content with the way she lives. She is young; she could get a job wherever she wishes, buy herself some decent clothes, meet people, find a boyfriend. All of which was nonsense, and he knew it. She deserved better, he considered, a home and work away from London and that pokey little house.

  But even if she had the chance to change he knew that she wouldn't leave her home. He had liked her parents; they had fallen on bad times through no fault of her father. Of course, if he could get a post as a schoolmaster again away from London that would solve the problem. Ermentrude could leave St Luke's and shake the dust of London from her well-polished but well-worn shoes.

  The professor put down the notes he was studying, took off his spectacles, polished them and put them back onto his nose. He would miss her.

  'This is ridiculous,' he said to himself. 'I don't even know the girl.'

  He forebore from adding that he knew Ermentrude as if she were himself, had done since he had first seen her. He was going to marry Anneliese, he reminded himself, and Ermentrude had demonstrated often enough that she had no interest in him. He was too old for her, and she regarded him in a guarded manner which made it plain that in her eyes he was no more than someone she met occasionally at work…

  The professor was an honourable man; he had asked Anneliese to marry him—not loving her but knowing that she would make a suitable wife—and there was no possible reason to break his word. Even if Ermentrude loved him, something which was so unlikely that it was laughable.

  He gave his lectures, dealt with patients he had been asked to see, arranged appointments for the future and always at the back of his mind was Ermentrude. She would never be his wife but there was a good deal he could do to make her life happier, and, when he got back once more to Chelsea, he set about doing it.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  DESPITE her resolutions, Emmy missed the professor. She had looked forward to seeing him going to and fro at St Luke's, even if he took no notice of her. He was there, as it were, and she felt content just to know that he was. Of course, she thought about him. She thought about Anneliese too, doubtless getting ready for a grand wedding, spending money like water, secure in the knowledge that she was going to marry a man who could give her everything she could want.

  'I only hope she deserves it,' said Emmy, talking to herself and surprising the porter who had brought her coffee.

  'If it's women you're talking about, love, you can take it from me they don't deserve nothing. Take my word for it; I'm a married man.'

  'Go on with you!' said Emmy. 'I've seen your wife, she's pretty, and you've got that darling baby.'

  'I could have done worse.' He grinned at her. 'There's always an exception to every rule, so they say.'

  * * *

  'No sign of our handsome professor,' said Audrey when she came on duty. 'Having fun in Birmingham, I shouldn't wonder. Won't be able to do that once he's a married man, will he? Perhaps he's going straight over to Holland and not coming back here until after Christmas.'

  'Christmas is still six weeks away.'

  'Don't tell me that he can't do what he chooses when he wants to.'

  'I think that if he has patients and work here he'll stay until he's no longer needed. I know you don't like him, but everyone else does.'

  'Including you,' said Audrey with a snigger.

  'Including me,' said Emmy soberly.

  * * *

  Emmy was on night duty again. Her mother was home and so was her father, now inspecting various schools in outer London and coming home tired each evening. He didn't complain, but the days were long and often unsatisfactory. He had been told that the man he had replaced would be returning to work within a week or ten days, which meant that he would be returning to his badly paid teachi
ng post. Thank heaven, he thought, that Emmy had her job too. Somehow they would manage.

  Emmy had dealt with the usual early enquiries, and except for internal calls the evening was quiet. She took out her knitting—a pullover for her father's Christmas present—and began the complicated business of picking up stitches around the neck. She was halfway round it when she became aware of the professor standing behind her. Her hand jerked and she dropped a clutch of stitches.