Betty Neels - Emma’s Wedding

He turned to the woman beside him. ‘Wibeke, this is Emma Dawson; she lives here.’

Emma wiped a soapy hand on her pinny and shook hands, wishing herself anywhere else but there, and listened to Wibeke saying how pleased she was to meet her while Mrs Brooke-Tigh, at a loss for words for once, tapped an impatient foot.

Presently she led them away to see round the cottage, and when they were on the point of leaving Mrs Brooke-Tigh said loudly, ‘I’ll be back presently to pay you, Emma. Leave the cleaning things at my back door as you go.’

The perfect finish for a beastly week, thought Emma, grinding her splendid teeth.

And Mrs Brooke-Tigh hardly improved matters when she paid Emma.

‘It doesn’t do to be too familiar with the tenants,’ she pointed out. ‘I hardly think it necessary to tell you that. Don’t be late on Wednesday.’

Emma, who was never late, bade her good afternoon in a spine-chilling voice and went home.

It would have been very satisfying to have tossed the bucket and mop at Mrs Brooke-Tigh and never returned, but with the bucket and mop there would have gone sixty pounds, not forgetting the tips left on the dressing table. She would have to put up with Mrs Brooke-Tigh until the season ended, and in the meantime she would keep her ears open for another job. That might mean going to Kingsbridge every day, since so many of the shops and hotels closed for the winter at Salcombe.

Too soon to start worrying, Emma told herself as she laid out some of the sixty pounds on a chicken for Sunday lunch and one of the rich creamy cakes from the patisserie which her mother enjoyed.

To make up for her horrid Saturday, Sunday was nice, warm and sunny so that she was able to wear a jersey dress, slightly out of date but elegant, and of a pleasing shade of blue. After matins, while her mother chatted with friends, a pleasant young man with an engaging smile introduced himself as Mrs Craig’s son.

‘Here for a few days,’ he told her, and, ‘I don’t know a soul. Do take pity on me and show me round.’

He was friendly and she readily agreed. ‘Though I have part time jobs…’

‘When are you free? What about tomorrow morning?’

‘I must do the shopping…’

‘Splendid, I’ll come with you and carry the basket. We could have coffee. Where shall I meet you?’

‘At the bakery at the bottom of Main Street, about ten o’clock?’

‘Right, I’ll look forward to that. The name’s Brian, by the way.’

‘Emma,’ said Emma. ‘Your mother is waiting and so’s mine.’

‘Such a nice boy,’ said her mother over lunch, and added, ‘He is twenty-three, just qualified as a solicitor. He’s rather young, of course…’ She caught Emma’s eye. ‘It is a great pity that you sent Derek away.’

Emma quite liked shopping, and she enjoyed it even more with Brian to carry her basket and talk light-heartedly about anything which caught his eye. They lingered over coffee and then went back through the town to collect sausages from the butcher. His shop was next to one of the restaurants in the town and Brian paused outside it.

‘This looks worth a visit. Have dinner with me one evening, Emma?’

‘Not on Tuesday or Thursday; I work at the library.’

‘Wednesday? Shall we meet here, inside, at half past seven.’

‘I’d like that, thank you.’ She smiled at him. ‘Thank you for the coffee; I’ve enjoyed my morning.’

Miss Johnson was grumpy on Tuesday evening and Mrs Brooke-Tigh was more than usually high-handed the following day. She couldn’t find fault with Emma’s work, but somehow she managed to give the impression that it wasn’t satisfactory. Which made the prospect of an evening out with Brian very inviting. Emma put on the jersey dress once more and went along to the restaurant.

Brian was waiting for her, obviously glad to see her, and sat her down at the small table, ordering drinks.

In reply to her enquiry as to what he thought of the town he smiled wryly. ‘It’s a charming little place, but after London’s bright lights…What do you do with yourself all day long?’

‘Me? Well, there’s the library and the shopping, and all the chores, and we’re beginning to know more people now.’

‘You don’t get bored? My mother likes living here; it’s a splendid place for elderly widows: nice hotels, bridge, coffee, reading a good book in the sun, gossiping—but you are rather young for that.’

‘I’ve been coming here ever since I was a small girl. It’s a kind of a second home, although most of the people I knew have left the town. But I’m quite content.’

They went to their table and ate lobster and a complicated ice cream pudding, and finished a bottle of white wine between them, lingering over their coffee until Emma said, ‘I really must go home. Mother insisted that she would wait up for me and she sleeps badly.’

‘I’m going back on Friday. But I’m told there’s a good pub at Hope Cove. Will you have lunch with me there? I’ll pick you up around twelve-thirty?’

‘Thank you, that would be nice. If you like walking we could go along the beach if the tide’s out.’

‘Splendid. I’ll walk you back.’

They parted at the cottage door in a friendly fashion, though Emma was aware that he only sought her company because he was bored and didn’t know anyone else…

Her mother was in her dressing gown, eager for an account of her evening.

‘You’ll go out with him again if he asks you?’ she enquired eagerly.

‘I’m having lunch with him on Friday.’ Emma yawned and kicked off her best shoes. ‘He’s going back to London; I think he is bored here.’

‘Mrs Craig was telling me that she wishes he would settle down…’

‘Well, he won’t here; that’s a certainty.’ Emma kissed her mother goodnight and went to bed, aware that her mother had hoped for more than a casual friendship with Brian.

He is still a boy, thought Emma sleepily, and allowed her thoughts to turn to Dr van Dyke who, she suspected, was very much a man.

Miss Johnson was still grumpy on Thursday evening, but since it was pay day Emma forgave her. Besides, she was kept busy by people wanting books for the weekend. She felt quite light-hearted as she went home, her wages in her purse, planning something tasty for the weekend which wouldn’t make too large a hole in the housekeeping.

Friday was warm and sunny, and she was out early to do the weekend shopping for there would be no time on Saturday. Her mother was going out to lunch with one of her new-found friends and Emma raced around, getting everything ready for cooking the supper and, just in case Brian wanted to come back for tea, she laid a tea tray.

He came promptly and they walked through the town to the car park. He drove up the road bordering the estuary onto the main road and then turned off to Hope Cove. The road was narrow now, running through fields, with a glimpse of the sea. When they reached the tiny village and parked by the pub there were already a number of cars there.

The pub was dark and oak-beamed and low-ceilinged inside, and already quite full.

Brian looked around him. ‘I like this place—full of atmosphere and plenty of life. What shall we eat?’

They had crab sandwiches, and he had a beer and Emma a glass of white wine, and since there was no hurry they sat over the food while he told her of his work.

‘Of course I could never leave London,’ he told her. ‘I’ve a flat overlooking the river and any number of friends and a good job. I shall have to come and see Mother from time to time, but a week is about as much as I can stand.’ He added, ‘Don’t you want to escape, Emma?’

‘Me? Where to?’

‘Mother told me that you lived in Richmond. You must have had friends…’