The Mistletoe Kiss

They knew about the bomb, of course; it had been on TV and in the papers. But when Emmy had phoned her parents she had told them very little about it, and had remained guiltily silent when her mother had expressed her relief that Emmy had been on day duty and hadn’t been there. Now that they were home, exchanging news over coffee and biscuits, the talk turned naturally enough to the bomb outrage. ‘So fortunate that you weren’t there,’ said Mrs Foster.

‘Well, as a matter of fact, I was,’ said Emmy. ‘But I was quite all right…’ She found herself explaining about Professor ter Mennolt bringing her home and him making tea.

‘We are in his debt,’ observed her father. ‘Although he did only what any decent-thinking person would have done.’

Her mother said artlessly, ‘He sounds a very nice man. Is he elderly? I suppose so if he’s a professor.’

‘Not elderly—not even middle-aged,’ said Emmy. ‘They say at the hospital that he’s going to marry soon. No one knows much about him, and one wouldn’t dare ask him.’

She thought privately that one day, if the opportunity occurred, she might do just that. For some reason it was important to her that he should settle down and be happy. He didn’t strike her as being happy enough. He ought to be; he was top of his profession, with a girl waiting for him, and presumably enough to live on in comfort.

Her two days went much too quickly. Never mind if it rained for almost all of the time. Her father was away in the day, and she and her mother spent a morning window shopping in Oxford Street, and long hours sitting by the fire—her mother knitting, Emmy busy with the delicate embroidery which she loved to do.

They talked—the chances of her father getting a teaching post near their old home were remote; all the same they discussed it unendingly. ‘We don’t need a big house,’ said her mother. ‘And you could come with us, of course, Emmy—there’s bound to be some job for you. Or you might meet someone and marry.’ She peered at her daughter. ‘There isn’t anyone here, is there, love?’

‘No, Mother, and not likely to be. It would be lovely if Father could get a teaching post and we could sell this house.’

Her mother smiled. ‘No neighbours, darling. Wouldn’t it be heaven? No rows of little houses all exactly alike. Who knows what is round the corner?’

It was still raining when Emmy set off to work the following morning. The buses were packed and tempers were short. She got off before the hospital stop was reached, tired of being squeezed between wet raincoats and having her feet poked at with umbrellas. A few minutes’ walk even on a London street was preferable to strap-hanging.

She was taking a short cut through a narrow lane where most of the houses were boarded up or just plain derelict, when she saw the kitten. It was very small and very wet, sitting by a boarded-up door, and when she went nearer she saw that it had been tied by a piece of string to the door handle. It looked at her and shivered, opened its tiny mouth and mewed almost without sound.

Emmy knelt down, picked it up carefully, held it close and rooted around in her shoulder bag for the scissors she always carried. It was the work of a moment to cut the string, tuck the kitten into her jacket and be on her way once more. She had no idea what she was going to do with the small creature, but to leave it there was unthinkable.

She was early at the hospital; there was time to beg a cardboard box from one of the porters, line it with yesterday’s newspaper and her scarf and beg some milk from the head porter.

‘You won’t ’arf cop it,’ he told her, offering a mugful. ‘I wouldn’t do it for anyone else, Emmy, and mum’s the word.’ He nodded and winked. She was a nice young lady, he considered, always willing to listen to him telling her about his wife’s diabetes.

Emmy tucked the box away at her feet, dried the small creature with her handkerchief, offered it milk and saw with satisfaction that it fell instantly into a refreshing sleep. It woke briefly from time to time, scoffed more milk and dropped off again. Very much to her relief, Emmy got to the end of her shift with the kitten undetected.

She was waiting for her relief when the supervisor bore down upon her, intent on checking and finding fault if she could. It was just bad luck that the kitten should wake at that moment, and, since it was feeling better, it mewed quite loudly.

Meeting the lady’s outraged gaze, Emmy said, ‘I found him tied to a doorway. In the rain. I’m going to take him home…’

‘He has been here all day?’ The supervisor’s bosom swelled to alarming proportions. ‘No animal is allowed inside the hospital. You are aware of that, are you not, Miss Foster? I shall report this, and in the meantime the animal can be taken away by one of the porters.’

‘Don’t you dare,’ said Emmy fiercely. ‘I’ll not allow it. You are—’

It was unfortunate that she was interrupted before she could finish.

‘Ah,’ said Professor ter Mennolt, looming behind the supervisor. ‘My kitten. Good of you to look after it for me, Ermentrude.’ He gave the supervisor a bland smile. ‘I am breaking the rules, am I not? But this seemed the best place for it to be until I could come and collect it.’

‘Miss Foster has just told me…’ began the woman.

‘Out of the kindness of her heart,’ said the professor outrageously. ‘She had no wish to get me into trouble. Isn’t that correct, Ermentrude?’

She nodded, and watched while he soothed the supervisor’s feelings with a bedside manner which she couldn’t have faulted.

‘I will overlook your rudeness, Miss Foster,’ she said finally, and sailed away.

‘Where on earth did you find it?’ asked the professor with interest.

She told him, then went on, ‘I’ll take him home. He’ll be nice company for Snoodles and George.’

‘An excellent idea. Here is your relief. I shall be outside when you are ready.’

‘Why?’ asked Emmy.

‘You sometimes ask silly questions, Ermentrude. To take you both home.’

Emmy made short work of handing over, got into her mac, picked up the box and went to the entrance. The Bentley was outside, and the professor bundled her and her box into it and drove away in the streaming rain.

The kitten sat up on wobbly legs and mewed. It was bedraggled and thin, and Emmy said anxiously, ‘I do hope he’ll be all right.’

‘Probably a she. I’ll look the beast over.’

‘Would you? Thank you. Then if it’s necessary I’ll take him—her—to the vet.’ She added uncertainly, ‘That’s if it’s not interfering with whatever you’re doing?’

‘I can spare half an hour.’ He sounded impatient.

She unlocked the door and ushered him into the hall, where he took up so much room she had to sidle past him to open the sitting-room door.

‘You’re so large,’ she told him, and ushered him into the room.

Mrs Foster was sitting reading with Snoodles on her lap. She looked up as they went in and got to her feet.

‘I’m sure you’re the professor who was so kind to Emmy,’ she said, and offered a hand. ‘I’m her mother. Emmy, take off that wet mac and put the kettle on, please. What’s in the box?’

‘A kitten.’

Mrs Foster offered a chair. ‘Just like Emmy—always finding birds with broken wings and stray animals.’ She smiled from a plain face very like her daughter’s, and he thought what a charming woman she was.