A Betty Neels Christmas: A Christmas ProposalWinter Wedding

by Betty Neels

  She beamed at him, her cheeks pink with pleasure and exercise, which was unfortunate as she had applied Elizabeth Arden blusher rather too lavishly and during the interval, after Sammy had brought her a glass of cup—the only drink the Principal Nursing Officer would allow during the dancing—the pink became red.

  ‘Like it?’ asked Sammy slyly, and gave her another glassful, and the moment she had downed it, pulled her back on to the dance floor. The evening, thought Emily, in a pale pink haze, was being fun after all and why had she been worrying, anyway? Everything was wonderful. She began to sing to the music and only stopped when Louisa and the Professor, caught up in the crush, appeared alongside her. She only paused long enough to say ‘Hullo’ before she turned her back on them.

  She had another glass of cup presently and then somehow Sammy disappeared, leaving her to stand on the edge of the floor, still feeling carefree and not very worried. Presently she saw him with a young girl with fiery red hair and an outrageous dress. They passed close to her and Sammy looked at her as though he hadn’t seen her before. She couldn’t see the Professor or Louisa and feeling conspicuous, she sat down, half hidden by a potted palm. She felt very warm and she supposed it was the heat and the noise which made her feel so peculiar.

  The Professor had seen her, though, and kept his eyes on her while half listening to Louisa’s chat. But suddenly he was all attention; Louisa, convinced that she had his admiration and was enslaved by her pretty face, was telling him about the locket. ‘I think it was rather clever of me to have thought of it,’ she observed smugly. ‘I simply had to have some new clothes and Emily didn’t give me nearly enough money.’

  The Professor’s voice was deceptively soft. ‘Did she not? Do tell me about it.’

  The telling lasted until the dance was over, when the Professor, acting with bland speed, introduced Louisa to Tom Spencer, excused himself with a practised murmur and made his way to where Emily was sitting.

  She was in the act of drinking from the glass Sammy had thrust into her hand as he went past her, the redhaired girl on his arm. She wasn’t thirsty any more, but it was something to do. It was a bit of a surprise when it was taken from her hand and the Professor said gently: ‘I shouldn’t if I were you. It’s supposed to be a harmless cup, but some joker poured several bottles of vodka into it.’ He studied her red face, looking a little strange now by reason of the blusher competing with her own flushed cheeks. ‘How many glasses have you had?’

  She stared up at him. He looked a little woolly round the edges and she had a strong wish to get up and dance with him whether he asked her or not.

  ‘How many?’

  ‘Three—and some of this one.’

  ‘God, you’re half stoned,’ remarked the Professor edgily. He caught her by the hand and heaved her to her feet. ‘Come along, we’re going to get some black coffee into you.’ He looked round him. ‘Where’s that punk type you came with?’ He added strongly: ‘And why in heaven’s name did you come with him?’

  ‘No one else asked me,’ said Emily.

  He tucked her hand under his arm. ‘I’m getting too old for this kind of thing,’ he observed. ‘We’ll find somewhere quiet—you can sleep it off if you want to.’

  He was walking her briskly round the edge of the ballroom, but she stopped to look at him. ‘Oh, but you can’t do that—what about Louisa?’

  ‘Louisa is quite capable of looking after herself—which is more than can be said of you. Come along.’

  She didn’t feel able to do much about it; he took her through a door and down a passage and into the consultants’ sitting room. There was no one there, but the Professor pressed one of the wall bells and when a waiter appeared, asked for a tray of coffee. When it came he glanced at Emily, sitting back untidily in a too big armchair, and poured out two cups.

  ‘Drink that,’ he commanded, ‘and when you’ve finished it, you’ll drink another.’

  She sat sipping the scalding drink and half way through said: ‘I’ve rather a bad headache.’

  ‘The vodka. It’ll wear off.’ He was sitting back in his own chair watching her. Presently he refilled her cup and asked: ‘Why are you wearing such an unbecoming dress when Louisa is decked out in the latest fashion? Have you no money?’

  At any other time she would have been furious at his daring to ask such a question, but somehow it didn’t matter now. ‘Not enough for both of us.’

  ‘I have a sister of my own,’ he observed suavely, ‘so I’m not entirely ignorant of girls’ clothing…’

  ‘And I expect you’ve had lots of girl-friends,’ remarked Emily; the black coffee was winning, but the vodka still had a kick in it.

  ‘Any number. Which leads me to observe that she is also wearing expensive sandals—I imagine her outfit cost upwards of one hundred and fifty pounds or so. Surely you could both have had new dresses for that?’

  ‘Oh, yes, of course, but Louisa had set her heart on this particular dress, you see, and I—I didn’t mind—well, not very much.’

  The Professor snorted. ‘You’re lying,’ he said genially, ‘but since your motives are good I’ll not dig deeper.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘I don’t need to, anyway.’

  A remark which meant very little to her, although she was beginning to feel more normal now although she had to admit to herself, not at all happy.

  ‘Shall I find your partner for you?’ asked the Professor. ‘Not that you’re in any condition to dance.’

  She shook her head. ‘No, thank you—he’s dancing with a girl with red hair—she’s very pretty.’ Two tears overflowed and ran down her cheeks—the vodka having its final fling. ‘I’m quite all right now, thank you. I’m sure you must want to go back to the ballroom.’

  The Professor stretched out his very long legs and contemplated the black patent pumps on the end of them. ‘No, I don’t want to go back—I like dancing in moderation and with the right girl. I’m going to take you home.’

  Emily sat up. ‘Oh, no, you’re not,’ she said fiercely, ‘it’s only eleven o’clock, I can get a taxi. Besides,’ she tossed her head, ‘I’m not sure that I want to go yet.’

  ‘You’re not capable of being sure of anything at the moment,’ observed the Professor. ‘You’re going home.’

  He took her down back passages to find her coat, helped her on with it, then went through a side door to where the Jag was parked. She curled up beside him, sniffing at the pleasant mixture of cigars and leather.

  ‘You’re very kind,’ she said it carefully, because the words tripped her tongue.

  ‘I can remember being very unkind to you, Emily.’ He didn’t look at her as he drove the big car through the quiet streets.

  She said in a small voice: ‘Oh, is that why you’re taking me home now?’

  ‘No. Mrs Crewe is there, I understand?’

  Emily nodded in the dark. ‘I said I’d be back by one o’clock.’

  They didn’t say any more but drove the short distance in silence until he drew up outside the house, where he took her latch-key from her, opened the door, pushed her gently into the narrow hall and came in after her, filling it to capacity.

  ‘It’s all right, Mrs Crewe,’ he called softly. ‘I’ve brought Emily back.’

  Mrs Crewe put her head round the sitting room door. She didn’t make any remarks about how early it was or what had happened, but said instantly in her comfortable voice: ‘I’ll put the kettle on—we’ll have a cup of tea.’

  The little room looked shabbier than ever, the worn covers of the chairs and the elderly carpet highlighted by the bright fire. Emily took off her coat and sat down and the Professor sat down opposite her.

  ‘Feeling better?’ he wanted to know.

  ‘Yes, thank you; I’ve got a headache…’

  ‘That’ll be all right after a good sleep. I’m going to help Mrs Crewe.’

  The kitchen was even shabbier than the dining room, its shelves filled with cheap saucepans and a miscellanea of china. He went and
stood by Mrs Crewe, who looked up at him questioningly.

  ‘I’ll take you home presently,’ he told her, ‘but first a cup of tea, I think.’

  ‘What went wrong, Professor?’

  ‘Sammy deserted her, and some fool had laced the fruit cup with vodka. Emily’s had three glasses of it.’ His fine mouth twisted a little.

  ‘The poor kid,’ said Mrs Crewe warmly, ‘what she puts up with is no one’s business,’ and added hastily, ‘Of course, it’s her business—I shouldn’t have said that.’

  ‘I guessed something of the sort. Shall I carry the tray in?’

  The Professor seemed in no hurry to go. He stayed until long after midnight, waiting with Mrs Crewe while Emily went up to her room and got ready for bed.

  When she came downstairs again, her hair in a smooth curtain around her shoulders, wrapped in a dressing gown, bought more for its practical warmth than its glamour, he got up and leaned against the door while she and Mrs Crewe exchanged a few parting words. He seemed totally uninterested, his gaze fixed on a particularly revolting picture of a clutch of dead pheasants and a bunch of grapes which hung on the wall. Emily, glancing up, thought that he was bored and longing to be gone; she made short work of her good nights, thanked them both for their kindness and saw them to the door. But here the Professor paused. ‘No, go upstairs to bed,’ he ordered her, ‘and call out when you’re in it; it’s the best place for you for the time being.’

  She couldn’t but agree with him; she went upstairs meekly enough and climbed into bed and obediently called that she was there. Only then did he usher Mrs Crewe out and shut the door behind him. Emily lay for a while in the quiet little house, going over her evening. It hadn’t been a success; indeed, it had been a miserable fiasco and how she would ever look the Professor in the face again she didn’t know. And there was the question of the locket to settle with Louisa. Tomorrow was going to be a perfectly beastly day. She frowned above tight shut eyes and slept, never hearing the Professor and Louisa coming in more than an hour later. It might have comforted her to have known that he did no more than open the door for her sister, bid her a pleasant goodnight, and get back into his car.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  EMILY NEED NOT have worried; when she went on duty the next day it was to be told by Sister that Professor Jurres-Romeijn had gone back to his own country.

  Emily felt a curious sinking sensation. ‘For good?’ she asked.

  ‘No, no, some date he had with someone or other—a girl-friend, most likely—he’s not married, you know.’ She glanced at Emily. ‘You look a bit under the weather, Staff—too much dancing last night, I suppose.’ She didn’t wait for Emily to reply but went on briskly. ‘Go and see to Mr Taylor, will you. He’s very nervous of his tube—try and explain to him…’

  She dismissed Emily with a nod and bent her head over her paper work once more.

  Emily hadn’t seen Louisa before she left for work. She had seen to the twins, given them their early morning feed, eaten a hasty meal herself and then nipped quietly into Louisa’s room with her alarm clock, set for half past eight. The twins wouldn’t sleep after that, even on full tummies, and Louisa would probably not wake. It was a pity, Emily thought worriedly, that she wouldn’t be home until after five o’clock, Louisa would be tired after the ball and perhaps impatient with the twins. But she had to dismiss any doubts from her mind and get on with her work. The wards were full and there would be a theatre list tomorrow; patients had to be prepared, reassured and advised as to how they should behave after the operation.

  Emily went through her day with her usual calm good sense, not allowing any private thoughts to intrude into it. Only as she was cycling home did she let her mind roam. Louisa would be cross, she felt sure. After the excitement of the ball, the dull routine of her day would have irked her, the necessity of feeding and bathing the babies, taking them for a walk in their pram, doing the household chores, would have brought on one of her bad moods. She had had them as a child; when she found that she wasn’t to have her own way, she had sulked and cried and made life miserable for everyone, until, very often, she had been given in to. Emily heaved such an enormous sigh that she almost fell off her bike. It was to be hoped that the Professor had been so charming that Louisa was still under his influence.

  Which to a certain extent was true. Louisa, after a brief grumble about her hard day, launched herself into an account of her evening which lasted while Emily took off her things, made the tea, went to see the twins, and came downstairs again. They shouldn’t have been in their cots as early as they were, but as Louisa explained, she was so tired herself that she had put them there in the hope that they might sleep until their feed was due. ‘And I took them out this afternoon,’ she said virtuously. ‘Although I could hardly put one foot in front of the other.’

  Emily made soothing noises, poured tea and surveyed the evening ahead of her. No washing had been done and the twins would want their six o’clock feed very shortly; there was no sign of supper either. She drank her tea slowly, toasting her feet in front of the fire, then set about methodically putting things to rights. The washing machine was loaded, the babies’ feed prepared, and the potatoes peeled and in a saucepan before William let out a howl followed all too quickly by Claire. Emily nipped upstairs, changed them and whisked them downstairs and into their high chairs. ‘You do Claire, I’ll see to William,’ she told Louisa, still lounging by the fire. ‘And it’s a pity you didn’t put the washing machine on a bit earlier in the day—nothing will dry overnight.’

  Louisa pouted. ‘What a cross old maid you’re getting, Emily,’ she observed. ‘No wonder you never get asked to dances and parties.’

  Which remark was so unfair that Emily could think of nothing to say to it. But later, when the babies were safely tucked up and the supper was cooking, she confronted her sister.

  ‘The locket,’ she said. ‘You’ll have to get it back, Louisa.’

  ‘How can I? I haven’t a penny—my allowance doesn’t come for another week, and I need some clothes if I’m going to London. Really, Emily, you ought to be glad that I was able to fit myself out so well.’

  ‘Never mind your new clothes—you’ll go tomorrow and ask them to keep it until you can fetch it.’ Emily wasn’t often cross, but she was now. Louisa gave her a doubtful look and then said reluctantly:

  ‘Oh, well—all right, though I do think you’re mean.’

  And later, in bed Emily wondered uneasily if she was mean, perhaps she was becoming old-maidish, even though there wasn’t supposed to be any such thing nowadays. When Mary was home again and the twins had gone, she would give up the horrid house they were living in, go back to London and get a job at her old hospital, find a small flat close by and have some fun. She was a bit vague about what sort of fun, but it involved buying some pretty clothes and having a holiday and going to a trendy hairdresser.

  She woke quite cheerful, her daydream still very much alive in her head so that the ward wasn’t irksome at all and even Sister, in a bad temper all day, couldn’t quite destroy it. She cycled home through the bleak evening making rather wild plans for the future, interrupted much too frequently by speculations as to when the Professor would return. Why he should be so entangled with that same future, she had no idea, only when she thought about her new wardrobe and all the parties she would go to he seemed, quite naturally, to be with her.

  She opened the house door, still in a dreamy state, and had her euphoria blown to smithereens at once. Louisa poked her head round the kitchen door.

  ‘There you are. I’ve some bad news for you, Emily, and you might as well know it at once. The locket’s sold. It was sold as soon as the shop opened this morning, and that silly man I asked about it wouldn’t tell me who’d bought it.’

  Emily stared at her unbelievingly. ‘But it can’t be—who could have wanted it? Was it in the window?’

  Louisa shrugged. ‘How should I know? Anyway, it’s gone and there’s nothing we can do about it
, is there?’ She glanced at Emily and then quickly away. ‘Renier thought my outfit was lovely.’

  ‘Renier?’ Emily was brooding over her lost locket.

  ‘The Professor, silly. Oh, Emily, don’t you ever bother about anyone? Did you see him today?’

  ‘He’s in Holland.’ Emily picked William up from his playpen and started to tickle his small fat chin.

  Louisa’s face dropped. ‘He didn’t tell me…’

  ‘Why should he? You’re a girl he took to a dance, Louisa—nothing more.’

  Louisa’s lovely eyes narrowed. ‘I’ve every intention of being much more. Just you wait until I’ve done my modelling course and got myself some decent clothes.’ She let out a gusty sigh. ‘Oh, just you wait, Emily!’

  Emily was too cross to answer. She tucked William under one arm and went into the kitchen to put the kettle on.

  She went to the jeweller’s the next day, but he wasn’t prepared to tell her who it was who had bought he locket; even when she explained that it was all a mistake, that her sister had sold it because of a misunderstanding. The manager was regretful but quite adamant. Emily, a mild-tempered girl on the whole, went home in a filthy temper, all the worse because she couldn’t give vent to it until the twins were in bed and asleep, and then Louisa, sensing the storm which was brewing, declared that she had promised that she would go to the cinema with Tracey and tore out of the house just as Emily was on the point of unleashing her rage.

  It was two days later that she saw the Professor again. She had had a frustrating day at the hospital; nothing had gone right, the tonsils in the Children’s ward had all behaved badly, screaming and raging and being sick, and she had become worn out with persuading them to be good and feeding them ice cream and cuddling them when they cried. Sister, who wasn’t keen on children, always left Emily to deal with tonsil day.