The Emerald Affair

by Trotter, Janet MacLeod

  Esmie laughed. ‘You’re still only twenty-four.’

  ‘Twenty-five next month,’ said Lydia with a shudder.

  ‘Hardly old, my darling,’ said Minnie.

  ‘You were married and had given birth to Grace at my age, Mummy,’ Lydia pointed out.

  ‘Yes, but you modern girls have been doing your bit for the War.’

  ‘Precisely,’ said Lydia, ‘and the War has left us with a lot less choice than your generation had.’

  Esmie tensed, thinking of David. Once again she agonised over how his parents must be grieving for their son. Minnie caught her look and touched her arm.

  ‘Jumbo and I were so sorry to hear of David’s loss,’ she said. ‘Lydia says you’ve been very brave about it.’

  Guilt gripped Esmie at her concern. She didn’t deserve it. ‘It’s the Drummonds who should have our sympathy – losing their only child,’ Esmie said. ‘How— how are they taking it?’

  Minnie sighed. ‘Badly, so I hear. I never see Maud Drummond these days – keeps to the house and refuses all invitations. Jumbo has been for walks with William on a few occasions but he’s a shadow of his former self.’

  Esmie felt leaden at the news. David’s father had always been a vigorous man with a gregarious nature. Some of Esmie’s fellow pupils had been in awe of their headmaster, with his booming voice and bushy grey beard, but she had always liked him. After all, William Drummond had been her father’s closest friend and he had shown her particular kindness and leniency following her father’s sudden death, keeping her on as a pupil and waiving the school fees.

  ‘I must go and see them,’ Esmie said. ‘I feel bad that I haven’t. I’ve written, of course.’

  ‘Well, you’ve been a long way away and busy with your work,’ said Minnie generously.

  Lydia took Esmie’s arm and steered her towards the stairs. ‘Plenty of time for duty visits another day,’ she said. ‘But right this minute we’re going to get you settled into your old room and freshened up before lunch. Harold and Captain Lomax are coming over at three so we’ll need to sort out some tennis clothes.’

  ‘Luncheon in half an hour, girls,’ Minnie called after them.

  Esmie glanced over her shoulder and smiled. For a moment it was as if the terrible years of war had never existed and they were once again the young friends whom Minnie had loved to spoil and fuss over – girls who had nothing more serious to worry about than the next delicious meal or game of tennis.

  Lydia peered into the wardrobe where the maid had hung up Esmie’s clothes. ‘You can’t wear that,’ she declared, pulling out the offending garment and tossing it onto the floor.

  ‘What’s wrong with it?’ Esmie asked, picking up the old tennis skirt. ‘It’s just a bit faded.’

  ‘It’s the colour of sandbags,’ Lydia retorted, ‘and about as fashionable. You’ll have to borrow one of mine or Grace’s until we can order a new one.’

  ‘I can’t really afford—’

  ‘Well, I can.’ Lydia cut off her protest. ‘We’re simply going to have to renew your entire wardrobe, as far as I can see. Have you really bought nothing new since before the War?’ She hauled a dress off its hanger. ‘I’m sure you used to wear this when we were still at school.’

  ‘I did,’ said Esmie. ‘But it cost Aunt Isobel a lot of money and I’ve only worn it on special occasions.’

  ‘Maybe if we have a Victorian-themed fancy dress party I’ll allow you to wear it,’ said Lydia with a wink, dropping it onto the growing pile of discarded clothes.

  Esmie laughed. ‘I’ll just put them all back in the wardrobe when you’ve left the room.’

  Lydia gave her a cross look. In an instant, she was gathering up the small heap and marching to the window.

  ‘Don’t you dare!’ Esmie cried, scrambling to her feet.

  ‘I dare!’ giggled Lydia, throwing open the casement window.

  Esmie dashed to stop her but Lydia was too quick. She hurled the clothing out of the window. Esmie peered out, stunned at the sight of her clothes scattered over the flowerbeds and bushes below.

  ‘All gone,’ announced Lydia.

  Speechless, Esmie looked at her friend and then out of the window again. She should have known Lydia would be provoked by her challenge into doing something devilish. Suddenly Esmie began to laugh. Then Lydia was laughing. Soon they were both doubled up and clutching each other with mirth at the absurd sight of Esmie’s clothes strewn outside.

  When Lydia had regained her breath she said, ‘Come on, we’ll see what’s still hanging in Grace’s wardrobe – you’re about the same height as my sister.’

  By the time the afternoon guests arrived, Esmie was dressed in a flouncy white tennis dress and petticoats that had once belonged to Lydia’s sister Grace. Older than Lydia by six years, Grace had left home for finishing school in Switzerland before the War and never returned to live at Templeton Hall. Instead, she had met and married a Swiss financier and settled in Zurich. The sisters had constantly bickered and had never been close; Grace had always thought Lydia spoilt and childish, while Lydia had complained at Grace’s bossiness and lack of fun.

  Esmie felt overdressed in the extravagant lacy outfit and was resisting Lydia’s attempts to put mother-of-pearl combs in her unruly hair when they heard the toot of a car horn.

  ‘That’ll be Harold,’ Lydia said in excitement, losing interest at once in styling Esmie’s hair and dashing to her cheval mirror. ‘How do I look?’

  ‘Very pretty,’ said Esmie. ‘As ever.’

  ‘You’re not just saying that?’ Lydia frowned at her reflection, twisting from side to side to view her hourglass figure. Her new tennis skirt showed her trim ankles and calves, while her blouse was tailored to show off her curves and slim neck. On her head she had pinned a fetching straw boater. Hats suited Lydia.

  ‘The captain will be captivated,’ Esmie assured her.

  Lydia gave a gleaming smile of near-perfect teeth, patted her blonde hair and said, ‘Come on then – into battle!’

  They found Minnie on the terrace fussing over the new arrivals. The two men, dressed in flannels and blazers, were already sitting in cane chairs and sipping lemon cordial in the shade of a large canopy. They sprang up as the young women appeared. Dazzled by the sun, Esmie put up a hand to shade her eyes and squinted at them. But they were still sun-blurred shadows, one a head and shoulders taller than the other.

  Harold stepped into the sunlight and Lydia brushed his cheek with a kiss that made him blush. He was stockier than Esmie remembered and his face was lined and ruddy from years in harsh sunlight. He could only be in his early thirties but looked ten years older. Yet when he smiled he looked suddenly boyish and handsome. As he shook her hand firmly, she recalled how Harold had been kindly and ever patient with Lydia and Grace’s teasing.

  ‘How are you, Miss McBride?’ asked Harold. ‘I’ve heard such wonderful reports of your work with the Scottish Women’s Hospitals. Ministering angels. I knew your guardian, Dr Carruthers, when I was training as a doctor. Wonderful woman.’

  ‘Yes she is,’ agreed Esmie. ‘I didn’t know you knew her.’

  ‘Before the War,’ Harold explained, ‘she took me round the slums of the Canongate in Edinburgh. Wanted me to see the poverty on our doorstep and understand that you don’t have to travel halfway around the world to be of help to people. I don’t think she approved of my missionary zeal to go and convert Indians.’

  ‘But you went to India anyway,’ Esmie said with a quizzical look.

  ‘I did indeed,’ Harold admitted. ‘Of course once I got there, I realised my job was ninety-nine per cent about healing the sick. I don’t think I’ve converted a single soul to Christianity.’

  ‘Harold, that’s enough talk about religion,’ said Lydia. ‘Introduce us to your friend.’

  ‘Of course,’ Harold said hastily. ‘This is—’

  But Lydia had already turned to the taller man and was holding out her hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, Captain
Lomax. And welcome to Templeton Hall.’

  ‘Delighted to meet you, Miss Templeton,’ he replied in a deep voice with the trace of a Scottish burr and the huskiness of a smoker. ‘Harold is a great admirer of you and your family. I once met your sister Grace at a hunt ball.’

  ‘Well, we won’t hold that against you,’ quipped Lydia.

  ‘Lydia!’ Minnie chided.

  The captain gave a surprised chuckle. As he stepped towards the women, Esmie saw his face full-on for the first time. She stifled a gasp of astonishment. She’d forgotten how handsome he was, with his shock of dark hair and lean, handsome features. He glanced at her over Lydia’s shoulder with startlingly blue eyes that assessed her through dark lashes. As girls on the cusp of womanhood, Esmie and Lydia had gazed at the colonel’s son from afar – on the few occasions he came back from boarding school and then officer training – and had admired his tall good looks and athletic build. But Esmie hadn’t seen Tom Lomax for years and hardly knew him, so her reaction surprised her.

  Lydia turned and waved Esmie forward. ‘And as you probably realise, this is my best friend, Esmie McBride.’

  ‘Miss McBride.’ Tom smiled and shook her hand.

  Esmie stared at him. He looked at her puzzled and then turned his attention back to Lydia. Esmie realised with embarrassment that she’d been gazing at him, tongue-tied, and hadn’t returned the captain’s greeting.

  It didn’t seem to matter. Lydia was steering him into a seat beside her and questioning him about his brave deeds in the War. Tom seemed embarrassed by this and shrugged off her adulation.

  ‘A lot of boredom in the heat,’ he said. ‘The real heroics were done by the quartermasters and the water-carriers – the men who really keep an army on the march. I was less than heroic, believe me.’

  Lydia laughed. ‘Your modesty is very attractive, Captain Lomax. But I’ve already heard from Harold about how you helped liberate Baghdad.’

  ‘My good friend Guthrie has always been prone to giving the credit to others,’ said Tom. ‘While I was safely behind the guns, he was out tending to the wounded in the field.’

  ‘I’m sure you both did your bit splendidly,’ Minnie said. ‘But tell us, Captain Lomax, what is it like being back at The Anchorage? Are you getting the place back to normal now that the patients have gone?’

  ‘My sister, Tibby, is attempting to,’ Tom replied. ‘But the castle still smells like a hospital no matter how many armfuls of flowers she makes me carry inside. Yesterday she had me and Harold all over the countryside cutting hawthorn blossom from the hedges. And something else that smelt like cat’s pee.’

  Lydia spluttered with laughter. ‘Poor you!’

  ‘Your sister has the right idea,’ said Minnie kindly. ‘You can never have too many flowers in the house. She’d be very welcome to come and help herself to some of ours.’

  ‘Yes,’ Lydia encouraged. ‘You must bring your sister over here. Mummy grows the most sweet-smelling flowers in the county.’

  ‘Judging by the delicious scent around us,’ Tom said, ‘I have to agree.’

  ‘And how is your father?’ asked Minnie. ‘Does he keep in good health?’

  Esmie saw a frown flit across Tom’s brow. He gave a soft grunt. ‘My father is in rude good health, thank you.’

  Esmie thought back to her few months of nursing at The Anchorage. The old colonel had been bad-tempered and constantly harangued her and her fellow nurses. One minute he was calling them lazy and the next accusing them of molly-coddling and overindulging the patients. ‘Shirkers the lot of them,’ he used to grumble. ‘Send them back to the Front. My daughter, Tibby, has more courage in her little finger than these weaklings. Drives lorries in France, don’t you know?’ Esmie could not remember the colonel ever mentioning his son, Tom.

  Tom shifted in his chair and began jiggling his leg. ‘Would you permit me to smoke, Mrs Templeton?’

  ‘Of course she would,’ Lydia said at once. ‘Mummy doesn’t mind a bit. Would you like one of Daddy’s Turkish ones?’

  ‘No thanks,’ said Tom, reaching into the pocket of his white trousers and pulling out a battered silver cigarette case. He offered them round but everyone refused. They watched him light up, inhale deeply and blow out smoke.

  ‘How about we get on with our game of tennis?’ Harold suggested.

  ‘Yes, let’s,’ Lydia agreed, jumping to her feet and leading the way. ‘It’s all set up. I think we should play mixed doubles, don’t you?’

  Harold smiled. ‘Splendid. Can I partner you, Lydia?’

  She hesitated. Esmie thought her friend was about to refuse, but then she beamed at the doctor. ‘Of course. If you’re as good as I remember, then we’ll have an unfair advantage.’

  Harold laughed and reddened at the compliment. They went ahead, Lydia reminiscing about tennis games before the War. Tom fell in beside Esmie.

  ‘I hope you’re a good player, Miss McBride, because I’m very rusty.’

  Esmie’s pulse quickened at his sudden attention. Her throat felt tight and her voice came out as a croak.

  ‘I’m afraid I’m average.’

  ‘I doubt that,’ he said.

  She shot him a startled look. What did he mean? Was he talking about tennis or was he teasing her? Her cheeks were burning. She wanted to make a witty riposte but couldn’t think what to say. She was baffled by her sudden gaucheness in his presence. Was she inhibited by Lydia’s interest in the captain? Her friend might be showing Harold attention at that moment but Esmie knew that she was just being friendly. She could tell that Lydia had been instantly attracted to Tom too; the minute her friend had stepped onto the terrace to greet him she had begun to flirt with him.

  The grass court was in full sunshine and, unusually, there was no sea breeze. Bees droned and the air was pungent with the smell of lilac blossom and wild garlic. Esmie, constricted by her long skirts and high-necked blouse, was hot before they even started to play. How she wished she was still in her old tennis skirt that she had shortened to allow her to run more freely.

  She hurtled around the court, getting in Tom’s way and mistiming her shots. They quickly lost the first four games.

  ‘How about you stay close to the net and I’ll cover the back of the court?’ he suggested.

  After that, they won the next two games but then Lydia began targeting Esmie as the weaker partner and swiftly won the first set. Harold, she noticed, was much more competitive than his friend and made a good partner for Lydia who was just as eager to win. Their opponents won the second set without conceding a game. Esmie kept apologising to Tom.

  ‘I appear to be the rusty one. Sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be,’ he said. ‘It’s just a game.’

  ‘During the War I used to dream of being here and beating Lydia at tennis,’ Esmie admitted ruefully, pushing messy tendrils of hair behind her ears. ‘Now I can’t wait for tea to stop play.’

  Tom smiled and murmured, ‘I hope they give us something stronger than tea after this ordeal.’

  Esmie laughed. ‘If Mr Templeton returns you’ll be in luck.’

  ‘What are you two finding so amusing?’ Lydia called. ‘I don’t think you’re taking this at all seriously.’

  ‘Do you want to take a break for some juice?’ Harold asked.

  ‘Perhaps we should change partners?’ Lydia suggested. ‘Let’s give them a chance, Harold.’

  ‘Shouldn’t we finish this match first?’ he said with a look of disappointment.

  ‘Poor Esmie looks exhausted,’ said Lydia, already walking towards the other end of the court. ‘Come on, Esmie; we’ll swap.’

  Tom raised a quizzical eyebrow. Esmie gave him an apologetic shrug and did as she was told. She could tell that Tom didn’t care about the outcome of the match.

  After that, the sides were more evenly matched. Esmie followed Harold’s hissed suggestions and encouragement and her serving became more accurate. The game grew fast-paced. Lydia and Tom moved around the court as if they
had played together often, each anticipating the moves of the other. Esmie thought what a strikingly good-looking couple they made, with Tom’s dark Lomax looks and Lydia’s fair beauty.

  The set was neck and neck when a shout rang out and Esmie missed her return shot. Jumbo Templeton bowled around the corner with two yapping terriers at his heels. He was even more portly than Esmie had remembered, his bulky body straining at the seams of his brown suit. His jowly face under his fedora creased into a smile of delight on catching sight of his guests.

  ‘Esmie, my dear! So sorry not to be here when you arrived.’

  She went to greet him and they kissed cheeks. The dogs, Bramble and Briar, growled and jumped at her jealously. She had never taken to them, nor they to her.

  ‘Daddy, you’re interrupting our game at a crucial moment,’ Lydia admonished.

  ‘Oh dear, am I?’

  Esmie smiled. ‘No, you’ve come just in time to save me from complete humiliation.’

  ‘Harold, dear boy!’ Jumbo clapped the doctor on the shoulder as he shook his hand. ‘And Captain Lomax. Welcome to our home.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Tom as they also shook hands.

  ‘I’ve been told by my wife to say that tea is being served on the terrace,’ said Jumbo. ‘But if you need a few more minutes . . .’

  ‘Tea sounds wonderful,’ Esmie answered, wiping her brow with a handkerchief. ‘I think Harold and I will concede the final set to Lydia and Captain Lomax. What do you say, Harold?’

  Harold bowed gallantly in agreement.

  ‘Oh, I suppose we were about to beat you,’ said Lydia, turning and giving Tom a broad smile. ‘Follow me, Captain Lomax. You are about to taste the best Victoria sponge cake this side of the Border.’

  He grinned and held out his arm to her. ‘A bold claim indeed.’

  A leisurely tea led on to pre-dinner drinks. Neither of the young men seemed in any hurry to leave and the Templetons pressed them to stay for dinner.