‘I could say the same for you.’ Emma laughed. ‘Hello, Tom.’
She was unsure whether to kiss him, or not.
‘Go on, you daft bugger,’ Ruby said, making the decision for her. ‘Give my Tom a kiss. ’E don’t bite. Well, not often!’
‘Ruby!’ Emma said, embarrassed for Tom although she realised he was probably more than used to Ruby’s ways. But she did as she was told.
‘I could get used to bein’ ’ere,’ Ruby said. ‘You should ’ave ’eard our three when we told ’em they wouldn’t be comin’ over today!’
‘They can come another time. But I’ve got a proposition for Tom.’
Tom visibly blanched. Took a step backwards. Emma could have bitten off her tongue for speaking so forcefully. Gently, gently, with Tom – Ruby had told her that.
‘And what sort of proposition would that be?’ Ruby asked. She linked her arm through Tom’s, leaned her head against his shoulder. He’s mine, the gesture said. ‘Not that I think you’ve got designs on ’im, Mrs Jago.’
Emma breathed more easily – Ruby had diffused the situation.
‘The garden. I’ve been wondering if you’d like to come and work for me, Tom. The garden mostly but on wet days I’m sure there’ll be something I can find for you to do in the house.’
‘I …’ Ruby began, but Tom stopped her.
‘If it’s all right with Ruby,’ Tom said. ‘It’ll mean she’s got more to do for my old ma.’
‘Nothin’ I can’t sort,’ Ruby said, her voice thick with emotion.
Ruby smiled at Emma, tears in her eyes. Tom willing, and able, to take on a job of work again was a step in the right direction, wasn’t it?
‘We’ll shake on it,’ Emma said, offering Tom her hand. ‘We can talk payment some other time. But now lunch. I’ve made crab soup with soda bread. And a bacon and egg tart with herbs. For pudding there’s strawberry meringue if you’ve got room.’
‘Bleedin’ ’ell,’ Ruby said. ‘’Ow the other ’alf lives, eh? Lead me to it before you changes your mind fer me cheek!’
Chapter Nine
Oh bugger – the telephone. Matthew cursed again under his breath – but a stronger word than ‘bugger’ which he hoped William, standing by the door with the mudguard of a motorcycle in his hand, hadn’t heard. Two minutes later and he’d have been gone.
Stella had said three o’clock at the latest. She’d found a vicar who was willing to marry them in church even though Matthew had been divorced. It would take at least forty-five minutes to drive to Torquay. He prayed he wouldn’t get caught behind a tractor going slowly up Telegraph Hill. He’d had it in mind to go to Bobby’s on the Strand in Torquay before meeting up with Stella and look for some leather luggage for their honeymoon. He assumed Stella would want a honeymoon, although they hadn’t discussed that yet. Italy maybe? Somewhere far from his office and the bloody telephone anyway.
‘Telephone, boss?’ William said, just the hint of question in his voice.
Double bugger, Matthew thought. Had William not been there he could have ignored the ringing.
‘Yeah, yeah,’ Matthew said. ‘I’d get you to answer it only I’d never get the oil off it – look at your hands!’
William shrugged. Matthew had told him more than a few times to wipe his hands before coming into the office but the lad never listened. He was a good worker, though. Keen to learn. He came from the worst end of town but he was honest and cheerful. Matthew had decided to give him a chance.
He snatched at the telephone. ‘Exe Motors.’
‘Ah, is you Signor Caunter? Is me, Eduardo Cascarini.’
‘Good afternoon, Signor Cascarini,’ he said looking at William. William raised his eyes heavenwards and grinned. Then he left the office, shutting the door behind him. They both knew a conversation with Signor Cascarini could go on a long time with misunderstandings to sort out.
Matthew swallowed back his irritation. Eduardo Cascarini was a good customer. The man was on his third van for his ice cream business now, all bought from him and then traded in for something newer. Matthew’s firm had done the signwriting on the sides, too. And they’d repaired the damage Eduardo’s son had done to it – playing at being Bentley or d’Erlanger on the Le Mans circuit, around the hills and bends of Torquay without a doubt – more than a few times. This could take some time.
‘What can I do for you?’ Matthew asked.
‘Is not me who want a car. Is my … how you say … friend donna?’
Matthew thought fast. Donna? The Italian for woman or wife? Had the widowed Signor Cascarini got himself a new wife? Or did he have an English friend called Donna?
‘Donna wants to buy a car?’
‘No, not she. She Emma. Emma want car.’
At the sound of the name from the past that never failed to stab him in the heart, Matthew drew on his rationale and told himself there must be hundreds of women in Torquay called Emma. Besides, his Emma – the only one he wanted to see – was in Canada, wasn’t she? And married. On instinct, he put his hand in the pocket of his trousers and his fingers immediately found Emma’s amethyst on the gold chain he always kept there.
‘When would Emma like to come and see about a car?’ Matthew said.
‘In one hour. I drive her in my gelato delivery van. You open still?’
And I bet she’s going to love that, Matthew thought, sitting amongst the returned ice cream containers and the boxes of wafers, although he knew there was a removable seat for use for back seat passengers should Signor Cascarini have some.
‘Yes, the garage will be open,’ Matthew said.
‘And you there?’
‘Well, I …’
‘Signor, I say to donna you be there. You give her deal.’
But I won’t be here. He couldn’t let Stella down. He’d already cancelled two meetings with the vicar of St George and St Mary at Cockington through pressure of work. He couldn’t do it to her again.
‘William will be here,’ Matthew said. ‘He can show you anything you’re interested in. I have to go out. To meet my fiancée. In Torquay.’
He didn’t know why he was giving it, chapter and verse, to Signor Cascarini. All his life he’d been conservative with his personal information. It had been part of who he was. When he’d first met Emma he hadn’t lied exactly about what he did for a living, except perhaps when he’d told her he couldn’t read and write. Goodness, but she’d been cross when she’d found out that he could. There was a fire in her he’d wanted to tame with his lips. Emma. Just the name spoken a few seconds ago by a customer and Matthew was committing adultery against Stella in his mind. This would never do.
‘But not just yet. Please, signor. I drive very fast.’
Matthew checked his watch. He’d given himself more than enough time for the detour to Bobby’s before driving on to Cockington, assuming there would be no hold ups.
‘I’ll have to leave just after two o’ clock at the latest,’ Matthew said.
A potential sale, was a potential sale.
‘Grazie. Grazie. Arriverderci,’ Signor Cascarini said.
The line went dead. Matthew hung the telephone back on its rest. Drumming his fingers on the desk he thought about what he could do while he waited. But he’d leave just after two, Signor Cascarini and the mysterious Emma or not.
Paperwork. Wasn’t there always a mountain of paperwork to sort out? He’d been to the barber’s for a shave, had a bath, and was in his best clothes ready for the meeting at the church. No way was he going to get oil on anything. He would do paperwork while he waited.
Half an hour passed. Another twenty minutes. The clock seemed to be ticking more noisily than usual. He heard William banging on metal out in the yard – like gunfire. But still no Signor Cascarini. The minute hand clicked upright. Two o’clock. He’d give it another ten minutes then he’d have to go.
Matthew checked he had money – coins and notes. A handkerchief. His cheque book. He slipped his hand into his trouser po
cket and brought out Emma’s amethyst necklace. He didn’t like going anywhere without it, but he didn’t want to risk it slipping out and for Stella to see it, start asking questions. Why are you carrying another woman’s necklace? Who is she? What is she to you?
He opened the drawer of his desk, put the necklace underneath a sheaf of papers and turned the key in the lock, put that in his pocket instead.
But now he would have to go. He’d waited as long as he could.
‘William!’ he called, opening the door to the yard.
‘Boss!’ William yelled back. He closed the bonnet of the car he’d been working on and came running.
‘You’ve just been promoted. Signor Cascarini is bringing someone to buy a car. A woman. Name of Emma. But remember to call her madam. Make a sale and I’ll give you five per cent. Give her a wink,’ Matthew said with a laugh, ‘and it’ll close the deal.’
‘Hah!’ William said, running his oily hands down the sides of his overalls. ‘I’ll do my best.’
Wink? Why had he said that? Winking at a woman had been Matthew’s stock in trade once. But not any more. Not since Emma – and the effect his winks had had on her.
Matthew ran to his car, found the starting handle and deployed it. The engine turned over, backfired, then began to purr. Good. Throwing the starting handle in the footwell in front of the passenger seat, Matthew got behind the wheel.
There were no other cars and Matthew reached the junction with the main road in minutes. Under the railway arch and on towards Pennsylvania.
And then he saw it. Signor Cascarini’s ice cream van. He jerked his head sideways in the hope he wouldn’t be seen and drove on.
‘I’ve found someone to make me a dress,’ Stella said. ‘There was an advertisement on the noticeboard in the nurses’ rest room up at the hospital.’
Their fingers were linked as they walked back down the drive of Cockington Court and Stella leaned into Matthew, and laid her head against his shoulder. He liked the weight of it there, the closeness, the way Stella was unafraid to show her feelings for him in public. Another couple walking towards them were arm in arm but that was the only parts of their bodies touching. And they didn’t seem to be talking to one another. The woman certainly didn’t look as happy as Stella had been when she’d made her way up to the church to arrange the wedding. But the couple rustled up a smile each and nodded politely as they passed.
‘I hope it will be well-lined, then,’ Matthew said. ‘February.’ He gave a mock-shiver.
If it had surprised him when the vicar had asked what date they would like for their wedding that Stella had chosen the eleventh of February, Matthew had reined it in. A Saturday. But he’d agreed that that would suit him fine. He was rarely busy with the garage that month and could easily close it on the day of the ceremony and for a week or two afterwards for a honeymoon with no great loss of trade. He’d need to try and boost business a bit between now and then, to give himself a cushion of finance to see him through the closure. If William made a sale today then that would be a start. To the Emma who wasn’t the Emma he wanted to see. To hold. To give that kiss he’d so wanted to the last time he’d seen her but hadn’t dared – one kiss wouldn’t have been enough and they’d both known it. He hoped his Emma was happy with Seth Jago in Canada. After Emma and Seth had first left he’d kept tabs on them through his contacts from his old surveillance days. But he’d also been kept busy tracking down Seth’s villainous brother, Miles, for the authorities. While Matthew couldn’t say it had been a pleasure seeing Miles hang for his murderous ways, the world was most definitely a better place without him. He’d seen Emma was safe in letting her go. He hoped she still was. It had seemed an intrusion to keep himself aware of her whereabouts at all times, so he’d stopped. But it had hurt like hell, the not knowing.
‘It will be,’ Stella said, and for a moment Matthew had lost the thread of the conversation, and must have been too long in coming up with something to say because Stella added, ‘My dress. It will be lined. And I’ll have a cape of sorts to wear over my shoulders. But that’s as much as I’m telling you because it’s bad luck to let the groom see the dress before the wedding. I’m not even going to tell you who’s making it or where.’
‘I’m hardly likely to be visiting a dressmaker,’ Matthew said.
He supposed he would need to visit a tailor though, and get a new suit made. He’d been wearing the suit he’d given his evidence in court against Miles Jago in as his garage business suit. It had most definitely seen better days. Today he was wearing flannels and a sports jacket. And an open-necked shirt. Neither outfit would do for a wedding, would it? It had been on the day that he’d given his evidence against Miles Jago that he’d decided to change career – he was done with surveillance and subterfuge and the danger it put him in; the danger it had put Emma in. All that had cost him Emma, he was sure of it. Not that he was in the habit of stealing another man’s woman but … what was the phrase? – all’s fair in love and war?
Stella took her head from his shoulder.
‘Matthew?’ she said. ‘Is something wrong? Only I’m not sure you’re with me today? Are you not well?’ She tightened her grip on Matthew’s fingers.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I was thinking of something.’
Someone. Was it fair to be arranging a marriage with Stella who was so lovely, so kind, so caring, so perfect in so many ways – except that she wasn’t Emma?
‘Such as?’
‘Well …’ Matthew took a deep breath, making a little time while he thought of a quick retort. He’d been good at that once – had had to be for the work he did – but he was getting slack, selling cars and motorcycles for a living. ‘I was wondering why you don’t want to get married sooner. February seems a long way away. My house is all ready for you to move into—’
‘It’s not that,’ Stella stopped him. ‘I promised matron I’d stay until Christmas. So I’ll honour my promise. It will give her time to find someone to replace me and get her trained up. But … oh, Matthew, I’ve been waiting half my life for this and now the hospital board have asked me to take some exams. This morning! They’re considering promoting me from staff nurse to sister. Can you believe it?’
Stella sounded as though she couldn’t believe it herself, although there was no regret in her voice that she would be turning it down to marry Matthew. They both knew that she couldn’t be a nurse of whatever rank and be a married woman. Stella was giving a lot up for him, and now it looked as though she was going to be giving up, potentially, a whole lot more.
They’d reached the bottom of the drive now.
‘Would you like to go somewhere and talk it through? This promotion?’
‘No, don’t be silly. I’ve made up my mind …’ Stella’s voice faded away and Matthew thought, for a second, that perhaps she was about to change it. She let go of his hand as they neared his car. ‘I asked you to marry me, and I’m not withdrawing that request.’ She laughed. ‘So, that’s you brought up to date with all that’s going on in my life. We could go somewhere to eat, though. What do you think? I only had time for an apple at lunchtime up at the hospital and I’m starving. You can tell me all about your life before you started selling cars. I know all about Annie and Harry, but not what you did to support them.’
‘I’ve told you,’ Matthew said. ‘I worked for His Majesty’s Customs. Now His Majesty’s Custom and Excise. And I was a private detective in America.’
‘Yes,’ Stella said. ‘I know you have. But I want to know everything about it. The people you met, the dangers you were in because I’m sure there must have been danger.’
‘There was then, but not now. Selling cars hardly counts as a dangerous occupation.’
Stella laughed. ‘I know! But if we’re to be married, I need to know everything.’ Stella made it sound as though she really, really, wanted to know every little part of him, and that she was prepared to hear anything. ‘I’ve heard a lot of confessions in my time from patients and th
eir families, and from medical staff, too. Nothing much shocks me these days. So, what did you do?’
Put men in prison. Sent some of them to the gallows. Spied. Lied to get information I needed and wanted. Used people without their knowledge to find out what I needed to know, although I never caused any harm to them in the using. And I wasn’t beyond doing an underhand, illegal deal myself to get that information. He’d done just that to get Emma her amethyst back.
‘We’ll eat first,’ Matthew said. He opened the passenger door for Stella and settled her inside.
You might not have much appetite for food if I tell you before we eat.
‘You what?’ Matthew said.
He didn’t want to believe what William had just told him – he’d allowed Signor Cascarini’s lady friend to drive one hundred and ninety-nine pounds and ten shillings’ worth of brand new eleven horsepower Clyno Saloon off the forecourt and away. William had accepted a cheque. As if cheques were as good as cash!
‘That’s far too big a car for a woman to be driving. What possessed you?’
‘Well, you did say to make a sale, boss. She saw the car and said, “That’s the one” and the deal was done. She said she’d been driving for years, boss,’ William said.
‘And you believed her?’
‘I sat beside her while she drove up and down the quay a few times the way you always do with new buyers. She could reverse well enough. Didn’t end up in the canal anyway when she did a three-point turn.’
‘And that makes it all right? There are such things as con-women as well as con-men, William. You know it’s cash on sale if a car is driven away immediately, or wait for a cheque to be cleared.’
Matthew wasn’t at all sure now that William knew that. Well, he did now.
‘Con-women?’
William looked puzzled, as though the thought of a con-woman was a new one on him. ‘She didn’t look in the least bit criminal, boss. Her shoes were polished. And her clothes were clean and that. I remember you saying once when that man bought the Model T Tudor Sedan that he looked like money. Smelled of it. Well she did as well.’
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