Emma

by Rosie Clarke

‘Will you be able to manage?’ She looked doubtful. ‘I’ll help you if you can’t – but don’t tell your father you still owe Mrs Henty. He wouldn’t approve.’

  ‘I couldn’t wear my old costume to meet Paul’s mother, could I?’

  ‘No, of course not, love – and this one does suit you.’ She reached out to pat my cheek. ‘You can borrow my best cream silk blouse and my pearl earrings. You’ll want to look smart.’

  ‘I’m so nervous,’ I said. I had thought of nothing else all week. ‘Paul must like me quite a lot, mustn’t he – if he’s taking me to meet his mother?’

  ‘It does sound promising,’ she admitted, though still looking a little doubtful. ‘I was surprised when he said it. After all, you only met him a few weeks ago.’

  I knew she was right. I sometimes felt as if I had known Paul all my life, but it was only a few weeks since he’d come into the shop for the first time, and rather soon for him to be taking me home … unless he was serious about me.

  The thought made me tingle all over with excitement. I had tried very hard not to get too excited, not to hope for too much, but I couldn’t stop myself dreaming. I was in love with Paul and it really did seem as though he felt the same.

  I couldn’t wait for the weekend to come!

  ‘How is your friend?’ Sheila Tomms asked when she popped into the shop on Friday morning. ‘The one that looks a bit like Clark Gable – have you seen him recently?’

  ‘Paul has been busy this week but I’m seeing him this weekend.’ I was glad my father wasn’t in the shop to hear me. He had gone out on business, leaving Ben and I to hold the fort. ‘He came to dinner last Sunday and he’s taking me to meet his mother tomorrow.’

  Sheila arched her brows. ‘Sounds promising. Lucky you. I wish I could meet someone like that.’

  ‘I thought you were going steady with Eric Brown?’

  ‘I was …’ She pulled a face. ‘We broke up last night.’

  ‘I’m sorry. What happened – or shouldn’t I ask?’

  ‘Eric was all right.’ She sighed. ‘We quarrelled over – well, it doesn’t matter. It’s finished and that’s that. I suppose I’ll find someone else.’ She laughed, shaking her hair back from her face with a gesture of defiance. ‘Maybe Richard Gillows. Since you don’t want him – you don’t, do you?’

  ‘No!’ I made a wry face at her. ‘You can have him and welcome.’

  ‘Maybe I shall, then.’

  Sheila was still laughing as she went out of the shop. I wasn’t sure whether she was serious or joking about Richard.

  ‘She’s a right caution that one,’ Ben said as the door closed behind her. ‘I’m not surprised she fell out with her bloke. They’re saying as she’s up the spout and it ain’t Eric’s neither.’

  ‘Ben!’ I gave him a sharp look. ‘I don’t want any of that talk here, thank you. If my father heard you he would sack you immediately.’

  ‘Lucky he ain’t here then, eh?’

  Ben’s cheeky grin made me smile despite myself. I wondered if the story was true. People loved to talk, but the old saying ‘no smoke without fire’ often proved accurate. I felt sorry for Sheila if she was having a baby. There was bound to be gossip in a small town like this, and a lot of people would turn their noses up at her.

  I began to tidy the shelves. I did them every morning, but the young lads turned everything over, reading as many of the comics for free as they could and sorting through the box of marbles in the hope of finding one they hadn’t already got in their collections. Some of them weren’t above stealing something if I didn’t keep a sharp eye on them.

  ‘You sweet on the toff then?’ asked Ben. ‘You want to be careful of his sort, Emma. He’ll have your knickers off soon as look at you.’

  ‘Ben! I shan’t warn you again about that sort of talk. I’m going to the stockroom. You can call me if you get busy.’

  I was frowning as I went into the crowded stockroom. It was packed from floor to ceiling with boxes against the walls, some containing fresh stock but others crammed with forgotten oddments, old papers and paid bills. Father really ought to throw most of this stuff out, I thought, as I looked round at the dust that had accumulated over the years. There was no sense in harbouring rubbish. I’d suggested having a clear out to my father several times, but he always made some excuse.

  Opening the top drawer of an old chest, I frowned as I saw the collection of small bottles and pill boxes. What on earth were they? There were so many of them, some of the labels faded and indistinct. I picked one or two out, glancing at the printing on the packaging; they were all remedies for indigestion or stomach trouble. Some of them looked as if they had been there for years. Reading the list of ingredients for one medicine, I was startled to see it contained arsenic.

  Surely that was poison? Did Father know what he was taking? He could end up by making himself really ill if he wasn’t careful. It would be so much better if he went to the doctor instead of treating himself in this haphazard way.

  ‘What are you doing, Emma?’

  I jumped as I heard Father’s voice behind me.

  ‘I was thinking of tidying the stockroom,’ I said. ‘I just happened to look in this drawer and found these. You’ve had some of these pills for ages, Father. Don’t you think you should throw them away and ask the doctor for something to settle your stomach?’

  ‘Who asked you to pry into my affairs?’ He glared at me. ‘When I want your advice I’ll ask for it – until then keep out of here and leave things alone. If I wanted this place sorted I would do it myself.’

  ‘Yes, Father.’

  I turned away, cheeks flaming. Why did he always have to be so harsh? I had only been trying to help. I was upset and annoyed with him for being the way he was, and yet couldn’t help feeling concern. He was my father, even if he didn’t show me any real affection. Sometimes I felt like leaving home, but I didn’t wish him any harm, and I certainly didn’t want him to poison himself with those pills.

  I spoke to my mother about the pills when I went up to have my meal later.

  ‘I’m sure he ought not to be taking half of them,’ I said. ‘One of the bottles has a label that says the preparation contains arsenic. I thought that was poison?’

  ‘It is.’ She gave me an odd look. ‘Are you sure you read the label right?’

  ‘Yes.’ I frowned. ‘I read something once in a book about people taking small doses of arsenic as a medicine, but I can’t remember what it was supposed to cure.’

  ‘Folk used all sorts years ago,’ Mother said. ‘No one goes to the doctor if they can help it. Harold is always looking for something different to cure his own troubles. I suppose he knows what he’s doing. I’ve never been able to tell him anything. If I had my way he would go to the doctor, but you know what he is.’

  ‘It just seems so silly, Mum.’ I looked at her and sighed. ‘Ben said he thought Sheila Tomms might be having a baby. Have you heard anything?’

  ‘No, I haven’t – but it wouldn’t surprise me. She’s a silly girl, Emma. If she carries on the way she is no one will marry her. I’ve seen what happens to her sort before and I’d have thought she’d have more sense.’

  ‘I feel sorry for her if it’s true.’

  ‘So do I,’ Mother admitted. ‘Her mother won’t be able to help her much. She will probably have to go away where no one knows her. Her life will be a misery if she stays round here. You’ve heard the way they gossip. She’ll lose her job for starters.’

  ‘I wonder who the father is? If it’s true, that is.’

  ‘Goodness knows. Let’s just hope he decides to do the decent thing and marry her!’

  I found it difficult to sleep that night. It was partly excitement, but other things kept running through my mind – like those pills in Father’s drawer. Why did he leave them there and not in his bedroom? And why buy a medicine that contained a dangerous substance?

  I couldn’t answer either question so tried thinking about something else.
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br />   Was Sheila pregnant – and if so, who was the father?

  Why did she keep mentioning Richard? Making out she didn’t like him much one minute, then saying she was going to go out with him the next?

  It didn’t matter. I turned over and closed my eyes, making a conscious effort to get to sleep. If I lay here thinking all night, I would have shadows under my eyes in the morning, and I wanted to look my best for Paul.

  Paul brought flowers for my mother when he collected me the next day – a beautiful bouquet of scented roses and lilies, which must have come from a high-class florist and which were obviously expensive.

  ‘To say thank you.’ He smiled as he presented them, then turned to me. ‘You look lovely, Emma. That colour suits you – you should wear it more often.’

  I thanked him, feeling both nervous and excited as I went out to the car with him. Would his parents like me? Would they think me suitable for their son?

  ‘Where is the concert being held?’ I asked as he drew away from the kerb. ‘I’ve never been to one before. I’m afraid I don’t know much about music – not classical music anyway.’

  ‘I’ll teach you,’ he said, sending me a smile that set my heart on a dizzy spin. ‘Trust me, Emma. I promise you it’s going to be fun.’

  I glanced out of the window. It was an overcast day, much cooler than it had been for a while. I was glad I’d asked Mrs Henty for the costume. It wouldn’t have been warm enough for a summer dress.

  For some time the roads were almost deserted except for the occasional farm cart, a delivery van or one of the buses that ran between the various small towns and villages. The fields on either side were low-lying, the earth often black fen soil, rich and fertile. It was only when we turned off the country roads and headed towards Cambridge that we started to meet more cars and lorries.

  ‘We’ll soon be there.’ Paul smiled at me. ‘It’s a surprise, Emma. I didn’t think you would really want to go to a concert. We can find something better to do than that, can’t we?’

  He was turning off the main road as he spoke, though we were still some distance from the town itself, in a quiet road with several rather nice-looking houses in large gardens. Paul manoeuvred the car into a gateway flanked by red brick pillars and drove down a long, tree-lined drive.

  ‘Are we going to your house?’

  ‘Yes. We can listen to as much music as you like there. My parents have a large collection of classical, opera and dance records. We’ll put the gramophone on. You can tell your father you’ve been listening to Mozart and Bach. You won’t have to tell any lies.’

  My heart started to beat very fast. I’d thought we would go to the concert before having tea with his parents. Now it seemed we would be with them all afternoon.

  I looked out of the window. We passed a tennis court and what looked as if it might once have been a stable block, though it was not tumbling into disrepair. Beyond the stables I could see the roof of what seemed to be an extremely large building. As the car swept round the corner of the stable block I saw wide lawns, a grey stone terrace with roses growing over the low walls – and the house itself.

  ‘Oh, Paul!’ I gasped. ‘It’s huge.’

  ‘Not really, there are much larger houses than this, believe me. Don’t be overly impressed. We only use one wing. The rest of the place is falling down. One of these days we shall have to pull the whole thing down in the interests of safety.’

  I was shocked. I had never seen a house like it, except in magazines or books. It appeared to be built in three sections, with a central block and two wings, and I thought it must be very old. I hadn’t expected anything this grand, though as I got out of the car I could see what Paul meant. Parts of the roof had gaping holes and the walls looked as if they might be crumbling away in one wing. Even so, with all the land around it, it must be a valuable property.

  ‘Your family must be wealthy, Paul!’

  My stomach was tying itself in knots. What was I doing here? This was going to be worse than I’d imagined.

  ‘If only,’ he said, pulling a wry face. ‘We were rich at the beginning of the last century but the money was frittered away by Grandfather Greenslade. These days we live on the bank and past glory. Things are what you might call tight where money is concerned.’

  Paul might not consider his family wealthy, but I knew instinctively that what he thought of as being ‘tight’ would probably seem like riches to my family.

  I ought not to have come here – this wasn’t my world. I felt so nervous that I wanted to run away. My feet seemed glued to the ground and I hung back as Paul took my arm.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘You shouldn’t have brought me here, Paul. Your parents won’t like me. I’m not the sort of girl they expect you to bring home. I can’t meet them. I’m sorry. I just can’t.’

  He frowned. ‘Silly Emma. You won’t have to meet them; they’re not here. They went away for the weekend. We shall have the house all to ourselves.’

  ‘Really?’ My relief was so overwhelming that I laughed. ‘Oh, Paul! You might have told me sooner. I’ve been so nervous all the way here.’

  ‘I wouldn’t put you through that ordeal yet,’ Paul said, giving me a brief kiss on the lips. ‘When we’re married we’ll just turn up and give them the news.’

  ‘When we’re …’ I was so bemused by what he’d just said that I made no further resistance as he led me towards some French windows, unlocked them and drew me inside to a small parlour. He gazed down into my face for a moment, then took me into his arms, kissing me so thoroughly that I was trembling when he let me go.

  ‘Poor darling,’ he said, running the tip of one finger down my cheek. ‘You were scared to death, weren’t you? I’d better give you a drop of brandy. You look pale.’

  He left me standing as he went over to a rather grand looking eight-legged sideboard, where there was a silver tray with glasses and decanters.

  ‘Here you are,’ he said, handing me a large glass which contained a tiny measure of brandy. ‘Drink this – and then take your coat off. I’ll put some music on and then see what I can find for us to eat. Mother’s cook prepared a few bits and pieces before she went off for the weekend; there’s bound to be something decent in the larder. She knew I might pop home and tends to spoil me.’

  I sipped the drink experimentally. It was very strong and made me gasp, but it gave me a nice warm feeling when I swallowed it.

  ‘That’s right.’ Paul nodded approvingly. ‘Sip it slowly. I haven’t given you enough to make you drunk, but it will settle your nerves. It’s medicinal, darling.’

  I set the glass down on a little round table. It was highly polished and had a reddish-brown colour, rather like the magnificent sideboard. I thought it might be mahogany and antique. All the furniture looked as if it could be very old. It was elegant but too formal for my own tastes. I wondered how people sat comfortably in the hard, button-backed chairs. The only thing that looked comfortable was a sofa with high sides that seemed to be tied at each end with a tasselled rope.

  Having taken off my jacket, I picked up my drink and went to sit on the settee. The cushions were soft so I slipped off my shoes, curling my legs up beside me on the seat and sipping more of the brandy. Paul had been right. It was relaxing me. I felt much better now. I closed my eyes, listening to the music. It had a soft, dreamy quality.

  ‘You’re not falling asleep, I hope?’

  I opened my eyes as Paul came back into the room. He was carrying a wooden tray, which he set down on a side table in an alcove next to the fireplace.

  ‘Mrs Moxon has come up trumps,’ he said. ‘She has made us some delicious canapes and I’ve opened a bottle of wine. I thought you might prefer medium to dry. It’s chilling in the ice bucket … but we’ve plenty of time, haven’t we?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ I responded eagerly. ‘Hours yet.’

  ‘And you do think this was a good idea of mine – better than some boring old concert?’

&n
bsp; ‘Much better.’

  I turned to him as he came to sit beside me on the settee. I could smell the woody scent that always clung about him. It was intoxicating. I felt a little odd, as if I were floating on air. Perhaps it was the brandy, but I’d only had a few sips. No, it was just the way Paul was looking at me. It made me feel funny inside.

  I loved him so! No one had ever looked at me in that way before. His expression was so intent, so compelling!

  ‘You are lovely. Do you know that, Emma?’

  I shook my head. ‘I’m not pretty.’

  ‘No – you’re beautiful.’

  He leaned towards me, his mouth touching mine gently at first, then in a more demanding way that made me feel strange.

  ‘Do you know what you mean to me, Emma? Do you know how I’ve longed to be alone with you like this? To hold you in my arms and make love to you …’

  ‘Paul, I love you.’

  ‘My sweet girl.’

  He reached for me. I went into his arms willingly. It was all happening just as it had in my dreams. I surrendered my lips to his kisses. He had never kissed me quite this way before, his tongue probing inside my mouth, teasing and provoking sensations that set my senses spinning. It was wonderful. I was melting inside, head spinning.

  Paul was easing me back on the settee, his mouth working against my throat as he whispered things … exciting, frightening, wonderful things that made me tremble. Now he was lying on top of me. I was thrilled and yet nervous. What was going to happen? His hand was caressing my breasts over the top of my silk blouse. His touch made me tingle all over. I was breathless. My stomach spiralled with a strange new sensation that made me gasp. Paul was sliding his hand up my leg … right to the top of my inner thigh.

  I made a little murmur of protest. This shouldn’t be happening. It was wrong. I ought to stop him.

  ‘Paul … we mustn’t.’

  He was gazing down at me, eyes mesmerising me, sapping my will. There was such an odd look on his face; his mouth was soft and loose. I knew he wanted to make love to me. This was real, this was passion. Not something out of a book. It was happening now – to me.