Emma’s Wedding

On Saturday morning she went to the cottages. She had told her mother that she had two jobs, glossing over the cleaning and enlarging on the library, and, since Mrs Dawson was meeting Mrs Craig for coffee, Emma had said that she would do the shopping and that her mother wasn’t to wait lunch if she wasn’t home.

She had known it was going to be hard work and it was, for the previous week’s tenants had made no effort to leave the cottage tidy, let alone clean. Emma cleaned and scoured, then Hoovered and made beds and tidied cupboards, cleaned the cooker and the bath, and at the end of it was rewarded by Mrs Brooke-Tigh’s nod of approval and, even better than that, the tip she had found in the bedroom—a small sum, but it swelled the thirty pounds she was paid as she left.

‘Wednesday at ten o’clock,’ said Mrs Brooke-Tigh.

Emma walked down the lane with the girl who cleaned the other two cottages.

‘Mean old bag,’ said the girl. ‘Doesn’t even give us a cup of coffee. Think you’ll stay?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Emma.

The future, while not rosy, promised security just so long as people like Mrs Brooke-Tigh needed her services.

When she got home her mother told her that Mrs Craig had met a friend while they were having their coffee and they had gone to the little restaurant behind the boutique and had lunch. ‘I was a guest, dear, and I must say I enjoyed myself.’ She smiled. ‘I seem to be making friends. You must do the same, dear.’

Emma said, ‘Yes, Mother,’ and wondered if she would have time to look for friends. Young women of her own age? Men? The thought crossed her mind that the only person she would like to see again was the man in the baker’s shop.

CHAPTER TWO

EMMA welcomed the quiet of Sunday. It had been a busy week, with its doubts and worries and the uncertainty of coping with her jobs. But she had managed. There was money in the household purse and she would soon do even better. She went with her mother to church and was glad to see that one or two of the ladies in the congregation smiled their good mornings to her mother. If her mother could settle down and have the social life she had always enjoyed things would be a lot easier. I might even join some kind of evening classes during the winter, thought Emma, and meet people…

She spent Monday cleaning the cottage, shopping and hanging the wash in the little back yard, while her mother went to the library to choose a book. On the way back she had stopped to look at the shops and found a charming little scarf, just what she needed to cheer up her grey dress. ‘It was rather more than I wanted to spend, dear,’ she explained, ‘but exactly what I like, and I get my pension on Thursday…’

The library was half empty when Emma got there on Tuesday evening.

‘WI meeting,’ said Miss Johnson. ‘There will be a rush after seven o’clock.’

She nodded to a trolley loaded with books. ‘Get those back onto the shelves as quickly as you can. Phoebe is looking up something for a visitor.’

Sure enough after an hour the library filled up with ladies from the WI, intent on finding something pleasant to read, and Emma, intent on doing her best, was surprised when Miss Johnson sent Phoebe to the doors to put up the ‘Closed’ sign and usher the dawdlers out.

Emma was on her knees, collecting up some books someone had dropped on the floor, when there was a sudden commotion at the door and the man from the baker’s shop strode in.

Miss Johnson looked up. She said severely, ‘We are closed, Doctor,’ but she smiled as she spoke.

‘Rupert Bear—have you a copy? The bookshop’s closed and small William next door won’t go to sleep until he’s read to. It must be Rupert Bear.’ He smiled at Miss Johnson, and Emma, watching from the floor, could see Miss Johnson melting under it.

‘Emma, fetch Rupert Bear from the last shelf in the children’s section.’

As Emma got to her feet he turned and looked at her.

‘Well, well,’ he said softly, and his stare was just as intent as it had been in the baker’s shop.

She found it disturbing, so that when she came back with the book she said tartly, ‘May I have your library ticket?’

‘Have I got one? Even if I knew where it was I wouldn’t have stopped to get it, not with small William bawling his head off.’

He took the book from her, thanked Miss Johnson and was off.

Emma set the books neatly in their places and hoped that someone would say something. It was Phoebe who spoke.

‘The poor man. I bet he’s had a busy day, and now he’s got to spend his evening reading to a small boy. As though he hadn’t enough on his plate…’

Miss Johnson said repressively, ‘He is clearly devoted to children. Emma, make a note that the book hasn’t been checked out. Dr van Dyke will return it in due course.’

Well, reflected Emma, at least I know who he is. And on the way home, as she and Phoebe walked as far as the main street she asked, ‘Is he the only doctor here?’

‘Lord, no. There’s three of them at the medical practice, and he’s not permanent, just taken over from Dr Finn for a few months.’

Why had he stared so, and why had he said, ‘Well, well,’ in that satisfied voice? wondered Emma, saying goodnight and going back home through the quiet town.

It wouldn’t be quiet for much longer. Visitors were beginning to trickle in, most of them coming ashore from their yachts, mingling with those who came regularly early in the season, to walk the coastal paths and spend leisurely days strolling through the town. More restaurants had opened, the ice cream parlour had opened its doors, and the little coastal ferry had begun its regular trips.

Emma was pleased to see that her mother was already starting to enjoy what social life there was. She played bridge regularly with Mrs Craig and her friends, met them for coffee and occasionally did some shopping. But her gentle complaints made it clear that life in a small, off-the-beaten-track town was something she was bravely enduring, and whenever Emma pointed out that there was little chance of them ever leaving the cottage, Mrs Dawson dissolved into gentle tears.

‘You should have married Derek,’ she said tearfully. ‘We could have lived comfortably at his house. It was large enough for me to have had my own apartment…’

A remark Emma found hard to answer.

As for Emma, she hadn’t much time to repine; there was the cottage to clean, the washing and the ironing, all the small household chores which she had never had to do…At first her mother had said that she would do all the shopping, but, being unused to doing this on an economical scale, it had proved quite disastrous to the household purse, so Emma had added that to her other chores. Not that she minded. She was soon on friendly terms with the shopkeepers and there was a certain satisfaction in buying groceries with a strict eye on economy instead of lifting the phone and giving the order Mrs Dawson had penned each week with a serene disregard for expense…

And Miss Johnson had unbent very slightly, pleased to find that Emma really enjoyed her work at the library. She had even had a chat about her own taste in books, deploring the lack of interest in most of the borrowers for what she called a ‘good class of book’. As for Phoebe, who did her work in a cheerful slapdash fashion, Emma liked her and listened sympathetically whenever Phoebe found the time to tell her of her numerous boyfriends.

But Mrs Brooke-Tigh didn’t unbend. Emma was doing a menial’s job, therefore she was treated as such; she checked the cottages with an eagle eye but beyond a distant nod had nothing to say. Emma didn’t mind the cleaning but she did not like Mrs Brooke-Tigh; once the season was over she would look around for another job, something where she might meet friendly people. In a bar? she wondered, having very little idea of what that would be like. But at least there would be people and she might meet someone.

Did Dr van Dyke go into pubs? she wondered. Probably not. He wouldn’t have time. She thought about him, rather wistfully, from time to time, when she was tired and lonely for the company of someone her own age. The only way she would get to know him was to get ill. And she never got ill…

Spring was sliding into early summer; at the weekends the narrow streets were filled by visiting yachtsmen and family parties driving down for a breath of sea air and a meal at one of the pubs. And with them, one Sunday, came Derek.

Mrs Dawson was going out to lunch with one of her bridge friends, persuaded that Emma didn’t mind being on her own. ‘We will go to evensong together,’ said her mother, ‘but it is such a treat to have luncheon with people I like, dear, and I knew you wouldn’t mind.’

She peered at herself in the mirror. ‘Is this hat all right? I really need some new clothes.’

‘You look very smart, Mother, and the hat’s just right. Have a lovely lunch. I’ll have tea ready around four o’clock.’

Alone, Emma went into the tiny courtyard beyond the kitchen and saw to the tubs of tulips and the wallflowers growing against the wall. She would have an early lunch and go for a walk—a long walk. North Sands, perhaps, and if the little kiosk by the beach there was open she would have a cup of coffee. She went back into the cottage as someone banged the door knocker.

Derek stood there, dressed very correctly in a blazer and cords, Italian silk tie and beautifully polished shoes. For a split second Emma had a vivid mental picture of an elderly sweater and uncombed hair.

‘What on earth are you doing here?’ she wanted to know with a regrettable lack of delight.

Derek gave her a kind smile. He was a worthy young man with pleasant manners and had become accustomed to being liked and respected.

He said now, ‘I’ve surprised you…’

‘Indeed you have.’ Emma added reluctantly. ‘You’d better come in.’

Derek looked around him. ‘A nice little place—rather different from Richmond, though. Has your mother settled down?’