by Betty Neels
It wasn’t until they were out on the street again that she stopped suddenly.
‘I must be mad—whatever have I let you do? We must go back and tell him that you’ve changed your mind.’
The doctor said nothing, but whisked her into the nearby patisserie and ordered coffee.
‘Didn’t you hear what I said?’ hissed Emma.
‘Yes, I did. And when we get back to the cottage I will explain everything to you. Now, drink your coffee like a good girl and we will do the shopping.’
He sounded matter-of-fact, and quite unworried, and that served to calm her down a little. All the same, going in and out of the shops buying their lunch and supper, and listening politely to sympathetic condolences, at the back of her mind was the uneasy feeling that she wasn’t quite sure what was happening…
There was a message on the answerphone from Mr Trump when they returned to the cottage. Mrs Riddley’s niece would be driving down to Salcombe on the following day to collect her aunt’s possessions. She hoped that Miss Dawson had left everything untouched so that she could check for herself that everything was as it should be.
‘Well, really,’ exclaimed Emma crossly. ‘Does she suppose I’d take anything which wasn’t Mother’s?’ She sliced bread with a good deal of unnecessary energy. ‘And do I have to stay here all day waiting for her?’
‘Very likely. And I must go to the medical centre tomorrow. What’s for lunch?’
‘Welsh Rarebit. I must go and see Mrs Pike and Miss Johnson…’ She was buttering toast. ‘And you are going to explain to me about paying the bills.’
He had intended to explain a good deal more than that, but as they finished their meal there was a knock on the door and there was Mrs Craig standing on the doorstep, expecting to be asked in.
‘I heard you were here.’ She looked at Dr van Dyke, ‘With the doctor. I had to come to see you to express my sympathy and have a little chat. I saw your mother frequently, you know, and I’m sure you would wish to know what a happy life she was leading. Such a sad thing to happen, and you so far from her at the time, although I hear that she died instantly.’
Mrs Craig settled herself comfortably in a chair. ‘I would have gone to the funeral if it had been here, but of course she wished to be buried with her husband.’
She doesn’t mean to be unkind, thought Emma, sitting rigid in her chair, but if she doesn’t go soon I shall scream.
It was the doctor who came to the rescue. ‘You are the very person we wanted to see,’ he told Mrs Craig. ‘May I come back with you to the hotel? There is someone there I believe had dealings with Mrs Dawson, and it would make it so much easier if you could introduce me. I’m sure you must know her…’
Mrs Craig got up at once. ‘Of course, Doctor. I’m so delighted to be of help. I’ve lived here for some time now and know almost everyone here. Emma, you will forgive me if I don’t stay, for I’m sure Dr van Dyke is anxious to settle his business.’
Emma was left alone, to cry her eyes out in peace, so that when the doctor came back she was tolerably cheerful again, in the kitchen getting their tea.
‘There were one or two small bills at the hotel,’ he told her. ‘I’ve settled them.’ He didn’t tell her that he had telephoned Mr Trump, paid a visit to the rector and talked at length with Kulk.
When she suggested again that they had to talk about his arrangements with the bank he brushed it aside. ‘You have had enough to think about today,’ he told her. ‘We will get a meal at the pub and not be too late in bed, for we don’t know how early this niece will arrive.’
They ate fresh-caught fish and a mountain of chips, and since there was no one else in the little dining room behind the bar the landlord came and talked to them while they ate, gathering up their plates when they had finished and promising them apple pie and cream.
The doctor kept up a casual flow of talk during their meal, urged her to have a brandy with her coffee and walked her briskly back to the cottage. She was pleasantly sleepy by now, and needed no urging to go to her bed. Tomorrow they would have that talk, and once Mrs Riddley’s niece had taken her aunt’s things she would pack away her mother’s possessions. That left only Mrs Pike to see…
She woke in the small hours and sat up in bed, struck by a sudden thought. What a fool I am, she reflected. I can sell the cottage and pay back the money. I must tell him in the morning.
She fell asleep again, satisfied that the problem was solved.
They had barely finished breakfast when Mrs Riddley’s niece arrived. Emma disliked her on sight; she was a youngish woman, fashionably thin, expensively dressed and skilfully made-up.
She answered Emma’s polite greeting with a curt nod. ‘You’re Emma Dawson? I haven’t much time; I intend to drive back as soon as possible.’ She went past Emma into the cottage. ‘I hope you haven’t touched any of my aunt’s possessions…’
Emma said quietly, ‘No. I’m sorry that Mrs Riddley died.’
The doctor, at the kitchen sink, rattled a few plates.
‘Someone else is here?’
‘A friend who brought me back to England. Would you like coffee, or would you prefer to go straight to your aunt’s room?’
‘Oh, I’ll get her stuff packed up first. Which room is it?’
‘I’ll show you, and when you are ready perhaps you will look around the cottage and make sure that there is nothing you have overlooked?’
‘Certainly I shall.’ She closed the door firmly in Emma’s face.
The doctor was drying plates with the air of one who had been doing it all his life. He lifted an eyebrow at Emma as she went into the kitchen.
‘Keep a sharp eye on her; she might filch the spoons!’
Emma, a bit put out, giggled, feeling suddenly light-hearted.
After a while the niece came downstairs. ‘I’ve packed up my aunt’s things. There are several dresses and hats too old to bother with. I dare say you can take them to a charity shop.’
She looked at the doctor, all at once smiling.
‘Dr van Dyke—this is Miss or is it Mrs Riddley?’ said Emma. ‘And actually I think you should take everything with you.’
‘Oh, undoubtedly,’ said the doctor smoothly. ‘One needs to be careful about these matters. I’ll fetch a plastic sack and you can bundle everything in it.’
‘Would you like coffee?’ asked Emma. ‘And then you must go round the cottage.’
Miss Riddley refused coffee. ‘I left the car at the end of the quay…’
‘I’ll carry your bags to it,’ offered the doctor. ‘We will let Mr Trump know that you have been and removed everything of your aunt’s.’ He stood up. ‘Shall we go? I dare say you are anxious to get back home?’
Chilling good manners, thought Emma, watching Miss Riddley mince along on her high heels beside the doctor. He looks very nice from the back, reflected Emma, and then she thought, I’ll tell him about selling the cottage and how I’ll pay back his money, and then he can go back to Amsterdam and not feel he has to do anything more for me. Of course there’s Percy. Perhaps he wouldn’t mind giving me a lift back so that I can bring Percy back here…
Much taken with this half-witted idea, she went upstairs to make quite sure that Mrs Riddley’s possessions had really gone.
There was no sign of the doctor when she went back downstairs and she remembered that he had intended to go to the medical centre. She had her coffee and started on a task she had been putting off: going through the desk her mother had used and clearing out the papers in it. It was something which had to be done, and it seemed likely that now everything was more or less settled the doctor would wish to return to Holland. That was something else she must talk to him about without delay. She had been living in a kind of limbo, doing what he suggested, not allowing herself to think too much about the future, but it was time she faced up to that.
She finished clearing the desk and set the table for lunch, which would be cheese and pickles and the rolls he had fetched e
arly that morning—there was to be no lingering over lunch, she decided. There was too much to talk about.
But she wasn’t to have her wish. The doctor came in briskly, observed that he had seen the niece drive away and then gone to see his former colleagues, then added as a kind of afterthought, ‘What do you call me, Emma?’
‘Call you? Why, Dr van Dyke.’
‘My name is Roele.’
‘Yes, I know, but I can’t call you that; I’ve been working for you. Which reminds me…’
He gave her no chance to continue. ‘Yes, you can.’ He sat back in his chair and smiled at her. ‘Will you marry me, Emma?’
She put the roll she was buttering back on her plate, staring at him.
‘Why?’ she asked.
He was amused, but all he said was, ‘A sensible question. I am thirty-six, Emma. I need a wife to run my home, entertain my friends and—er—support me.’
‘But Kulk runs your home beautifully and your friends might not like me. Besides, you don’t need supporting. Indeed, you’ve been supporting me.’ She added politely, ‘Thank you for asking me. I’ve had a very good idea this morning. I shall sell the cottage and then I can pay you back all that money you gave the bank.’
‘And?’
‘Then I’ll get a job.’
‘For such a sensible girl you have some odd ideas, Emma. What job? And where will you live? And how will you pay the rent and feed yourself on the kind of wages you are able to earn?’
‘Well, I must say,’ said Emma crossly, ‘I thought you’d be pleased to be free to go back home.’ She frowned. ‘This is a very strange conversation.’
‘Indeed it is. Shall we start again. Will you marry me, Emma?’
CHAPTER SEVEN
SHE stared at him across the table. ‘But you don’t—that is, you can’t possibly be in love with me…’
‘I have made no mention of love, or falling in love, Emma. Indeed, a happy marriage is as likely to be the result of compatibility, a real liking for each other, and the slow growing of deep affection which would surely follow. Sound bases on which to build. Whereas all too often marrying on impulse whilst in the throes of a love which so often turns into infatuation turns into disaster.’
He smiled at her. ‘Do I sound like an elder brother giving you advice? I don’t mean to; I’m only trying to make the situation clear to you without pretending to a romance that doesn’t exist.’
‘And if I should say yes?’
‘We will marry as soon as possible and go back to Amsterdam. You will, of course, keep this cottage. We both like Salcombe, don’t we? And it would be nice to keep a foot in the door here.’
‘Have you ever been in love?’ asked Emma. If he was surprised at her question he didn’t show it.
‘Oh, countless times. Young men do, you know, it’s all part of growing up. And you?’
‘Oh, yes. With film stars and the music master at school and my best friend’s brother—only they went to live abroad and I forgot about him. And of course there was Derek, but I didn’t love him—only got used to him. Mother liked him and he was always very attentive—until Father died and he discovered that he was bankrupt and it would damage his career if he married me. Would I damage your career?’
He answered her with perfect gravity. ‘No. Indeed, I suppose it would be a great advantage to me. A married man always seems so much more reliable!’
‘You might meet someone and fall in love… So might I…’
‘There is that possibility, but remember that I am no longer an impetuous youth and you, if I may say so, have reached the age of reason.’
‘I’m twenty-seven,’ snapped Emma, ‘and if you suppose that I’m a staid spinster you’re mistaken.’
‘No, no, I wouldn’t imagine anything of the sort. I merely meant to imply that we are both of us ideally suited to be man and wife.’
‘You’re not asking me because you are sorry for me?’
His, ‘Good Lord, no,’ had a satisfyingly genuine ring to it. All the same she frowned.
‘Ought we to wait and think about it?’
‘For my part, I’ve done my thinking, but by all means take all the time you need, Emma. I’ll go back to Amsterdam in a while, and you can make up your mind at your leisure.’
This was a prospect she didn’t fancy; to be here in the cottage on her own and Roele not there to advise her… But of course she couldn’t ask his advice about marrying him, could she?
‘You don’t know anything about me…’
‘On the contrary, I know that you are capable, sensible, have similar tastes and interests to mine, you are a good listener, have the ability to face up to life, and, as a bonus, you are a very attractive young woman. And let me make it quite clear to you that I do not wish for or expect you to strive for a romantic attachment until such time as you feel ready for it.’
‘Just friends to start with?’
‘You see what I mean? Sensible and matter-of-fact. Just friends—good friends.’
‘There’s another thing. I think you must be comfortably off, but I want you to know that I’m not marrying you for your money.’
Roele gave a small inward sigh of relief. His darling Emma was going to marry him, and sooner or later would learn to love him. In the meantime he had more than enough love for them both. He said firmly, ‘I know you aren’t, and, yes, I do have rather a lot of money. It will be nice to share it with someone.’
His smile was warm and friendly and utterly reassuring. ‘Will you marry me, Emma?’
‘Yes, I will. I like you very much and I know that I would miss you very much if you were to go away, and—and when you’re not here I feel a bit lost. Only I hope I won’t be a disappointment to you.’ She looked at him with a question in her eyes. ‘You would tell me?’
‘Yes, I promise you that I will.’ He leaned across the table and took one of her hands in his. ‘Would you object to getting married by special licence as soon as possible? Here in Salcombe? And we’ll return to Amsterdam as soon as possible afterwards.’
‘I still have Mother’s things to pack up…’
‘Then start on that while I go and see Mrs Pike and talk to the rector.’
‘Does it take a long time to get a special licence?’
‘It should be in the post tomorrow morning; all we need to do is fix a time and a day.’
‘Just us?’
‘Well, I think Dr Walters might like to be at the church, and what about Miss Johnson and Mrs Craig?’
‘Oh, witnesses. Of course. All right. And now everything is settled we had better get started.’
She got up and began to clear the table, but he took the dishes out of her hands and put his hands on her shoulders. ‘How very unromantic of me to propose to you over the remnants of a meal. I must make up for that…’ He bent and kissed her gently. ‘We shall be happy, Emma, I promise you…’
His kiss sent a glow of warmth through her; she was honest enough to admit that she enjoyed it, and for the first time since her mother’s death she felt a surge of content and happiness.
As soon as he had gone in search of the rector and Mrs Pike she went to her mother’s room and began the sad task of packing up her clothes.
The cupboards and drawers were stuffed full. In the short time in which Emma had been away Mrs Dawson had indeed spent a good deal of money on dresses, hats and shoes—most of them hardly worn. They would have to go to a charity shop.
She picked out one or two of the more sober garments in case Mrs Pike might like to have them, bundled everything else in sacks and then opened her mother’s jewel box. There was a pearl necklace, rings and brooches and earrings. They were hers now, Emma supposed. She closed the box. She would wear the pearls on her wedding day but the rest she would put away until an occasion when she might need to wear them.
She wept a little as she thought of her mother and father. I’m an orphan, she thought, drowning in sudden self-pity, until her sensible self took over again a
nd she reminded herself that she was going to get married to a man she liked very much and go and live in a splendid house and share his life. And she was going to make a success of it too.
Roele came back then, with the news that the rector would marry them in two days’ time at ten o’clock in the morning, if she was agreeable to that. And as for Mrs Pike, he had arranged for her to go to the cottage once a week and keep it in good order. ‘For of course we shall come here from time to time, even if it is only for a few days. Now, what do you want me to do with your mother’s clothes?’ he asked.
She had been crying, poor girl. The quicker the cottage was empty of things which would remind her of her grief the better.
‘There are three sacks full. Could you take them to the charity shop? The nearest one is in Kingsbridge.’
‘A good idea. Get your hat and coat; we’ll both go. I’ll take them along to the car while you get ready.’
By the time she had done that, and tidied her face and hair, she looked quite cheerful again. As they drove the few miles to Kingsbridge he kept up a steady flow of cheerful remarks, so that by the time they reached the shop and handed everything over she was quite ready to go to a tea room at the bottom of the high street and linger over tea and hot buttered crumpets.
They were married two days later, on a morning of tearing wind and persistent rain, despite which a surprising number of people came to the church to see them wed. Dr Walters and his colleagues, Miss Johnson and Phoebe, Mrs Craig and Mrs Pike, several members of the lifeboat crew, even the cross-looking baker’s wife.
They gathered round when the simple ceremony was over, offering good wishes and waving goodbyes as they got into the Rolls. They drove through the little town and on to the road to Exeter on the first stage of their journey back to Holland.
They had had an early breakfast. Roele had taken the luggage to the car and locked the cottage door with the cheerful remark that they would be back in the spring, and then popped her into the car and driven to the church without giving Emma time to feel regret or sadness. And now he kept up a steady flow of talk: the unexpected pleasure of seeing friends and acquaintances at the church, the stormy weather, the pleasure of seeing Prince and Percy again.