The Right Kind of Girl

by Betty Neels

  Emma, collecting cups and saucers, saw that Paul had stayed. Waiting for her, she supposed, and when she came from the kitchen presently he was still there.

  He got up when he saw her, passed a pleasant time of day with the vicar’s wife, helped them on with their coats, turned out the lights, locked the door and gave the key to the vicar, who had walked back for his wife. That done, he turned for home, his hand under Emma’s elbow.

  She sensed that it was an angry hand and, anxious not to make things worse than they apparently were, she trotted briskly beside him, keeping up with his strides.

  In the drawing-room she sat down in her usual chair, but Paul stood by the door, the dogs beside him. Perhaps it would be best to carry the war into the enemy camp, Emma decided.

  ‘You were very late; did you have an emergency?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You went to see Diana…?’

  ‘Indeed I did.’

  Emma nodded. ‘She told me that you would go and see her, and that you were going to see her anyway.’

  ‘And you believed her?’

  ‘Well, no, I didn’t—but I do now.’

  He said softly, ‘And why do you suppose that I went to see her?’

  Emma said carefully, ‘Shall we not talk about that? Something has made you angry and you must be tired. I’ll tell Mrs Parfitt that we are ready for dinner, shall I? While you have a drink.’

  She was surprised when he laughed.

  It was while they were eating that Paul said quietly, ‘I do not wish you to go to the clinic any more, Emma.’

  She had a forkful of ragout halfway to her mouth. ‘Not go? Why ever not?’

  ‘Would it do if I just asked you to do as I wish? There are good reasons.’

  Emma allowed her imagination to run riot. Diana would have convinced him in her charming way that she was no good at the nursery, that she was too slow, too independent too. She said slowly, ‘Very well, Paul, but I should like to go tomorrow morning to say goodbye to Maisie. I have been working with her and she is getting married—I’ve a present for her. And I’d like to see Charlie—he’s so cross and unloved…’

  ‘Of course you must go. Diana won’t be there, but you could leave a note.’

  ‘Very well. I’ll think up a good excuse.’

  She wrote it later when Paul was in his study. Obviously Paul didn’t want her to meet Diana again. Why? she wondered. Perhaps she would never know. It had been silly of her to refuse to talk about it; she hadn’t given him a chance to explain why he was angry. She thought that he still was but he had got his rage under control; his manner was imperturbable.

  He had looked, she reflected, as though he could have swept the extremely valuable decanter and glasses off the side-table. She sighed—everything had gone wrong. Their marriage had seemed such a splendid idea and she had been sure that it would be a success.

  The mousy little woman who deputised for Diana was at the nursery the next day.

  ‘Is Diana ill?’ asked Emma, agog for information.

  ‘No, Lady Wyatt. She felt she should have a few days off; she’s been working hard just lately. You’ll be sorry to have missed her. I hear you’re leaving us.’

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid so. I shall miss the babies. May I go and say goodbye to them and Maisie?’

  ‘Of course. I’m sure Diana is grateful for your help while you were with us.’

  ‘I enjoyed it,’ said Emma.

  Maisie was on her own, and Emma resisted the urge to put on her pinny and give her a hand. ‘I’m leaving, Maisie. I didn’t want to but Sir Paul asked me to.’

  ‘Did ‘e now?’ Maisie looked smug. She had been there yesterday evening when Sir Paul had come to see Diana and, although she hadn’t been able to hear what was said, she had heard Diana’s voice, shrill and then tearful, and Sir Paul’s measured rumble. He had come out of the office eventually, and this time Maisie had been brave and stopped him before he got into his car.

  ‘I don’t know the ins and outs,’ she had told him briskly, ‘but it’s time you caught on ter that Diana telling great whoppers about that little wife of yours. Little angel, she is, and never said a word, I’ll bet. ‘Oo pretended there weren’t no doctors nor ambulances to go ter the camp? Moonshine. I ‘eard ‘er with me own ears telling ‘em there weren’t no need to send anyone. Sent little Emma back into all that mist and dark, she did, and tells everyone she’d done it awf her own bat and against ‘er wishes.’ Maisie had stuck her chin out. ‘Sack me if yer want to. I likes ter see justice done, mister!’

  Sir Paul had put out a hand and engulfed hers. ‘Maisie—so do I. Thank you for telling me; Emma has a loyal friend in you.’

  ‘Don’t you go telling her, now.’

  He had kept his word. Emma obviously knew nothing about his visit. Now everything would be all right. ‘I’ll miss yer, but I dare say you’ll ‘ave a few of yer own soon enough.’

  Emma had picked up Charlie. ‘I do hope Charlie will be wanted by someone.’

  ‘Now, as ter that, I’ve a bit of good news. ‘E’s ter be adopted by such a nice woman and ‘er ‘usband—no kids of their own and they want a boy. ‘E’ll ‘ave a good ‘ome.’

  ‘Oh, lovely. Maisie, will you write and tell me when you’re to be married? And here’s a wedding-present.’

  Emma dived into her shoulder-bag and handed over a beribboned box.

  ‘Cor, love, yer didn’t orter…’

  Maisie was already untying the ribbons. Inside was a brown leather handbag and, under that, a pair of matching gloves.

  ‘I’ll wear ‘em on me wedding-day,’ said Maisie, and got up and offered a hand.

  Emma took it and then kissed Maisie’s cheek. ‘I hope you’ll be very happy, and please write to me sometimes.’

  ‘I ain’t much ‘and with a pen, but I’ll do me best,’ said Maisie.

  Back home again, Emma took the dogs for a walk, had her lunch and then went into the garden. She pottered about, weeding here and there, tying things up, examining the rose bushes, anxious to keep busy so that she didn’t need to think too much. She supposed that sooner or later she and Paul would have to talk—perhaps it would be best to get it over with. He had said that he would be home for tea. She began to rehearse a casual conversation—anything to prevent them talking about Diana.

  The rehearsal wasn’t necessary; when Paul got home he treated her with a casual friendliness which quite disarmed her. It was only later that she remembered she had told him that she had no wish to discuss the unfortunate episode at the camp and Diana’s accusations. Which, of course, made it impossible for her to mention it now. They spent the evening together, making trivial talk, so that by the time she went to bed she was feeling peevish from her efforts to think up something harmless to say.

  Paul got up to open the door for her, and as she went past him with a quick goodnight he observed, ‘Difficult, isn’t it, Emma?’

  She paused to look up at him in surprise.

  ‘Making polite small talk when you’re bursting to utter quite different thoughts out loud.’ He smiled down at her—a small, mocking smile with a tender edge to it, but she didn’t see the tenderness, only the mockery.

  For want of anything better, she said, ‘I’ve no idea what you mean.’

  Over the next few days they settled down to an uneasy truce—at least, it was uneasy on Emma’s part, although Paul behaved as though nothing had occurred to disturb the easy-going relationship between them.

  He was due up in Edinburgh at the beginning of the following week, but he didn’t suggest that she should go with him. Not that I would have gone, reflected Emma, all the same annoyed that he hadn’t asked her.

  He would be back in three days he told her. ‘Why not call Father to take you up to the Cotswolds, and spend a couple of days with them?’

  ‘Well, Mrs Parfitt did say that she would like a few days to visit her sister at Brixham. I thought I might drive her there and fetch her back. Willy and Kate can sit in the
back and I can leave Queenie for most of the day.’

  ‘You would like to do that? Then by all means go. I don’t really like your being alone in the house, though, Emma.’

  ‘It won’t be the first time, and I have the dogs. I’m not nervous.’

  ‘I’ll leave my phone number, of course. Perhaps it would be better if Mrs Parfitt waited until I am back home.’

  ‘No, it wouldn’t. There’s lots more to do around the house and more cooking when you’re home.’

  ‘A nuisance in my own house, Emma?’ He sounded amused.

  ‘No—oh, no, of course not. But I know she’d prefer to go away when you’re not here.’

  ‘As you wish. In any case, I shall phone each evening.’

  Paul left soon after breakfast, so Emma was able to drive Mrs Parfitt to her sister’s very shortly after that.

  It was a pleasant drive and the morning was fine, and when she reached Brixham she delivered Mrs Parfitt and then drove down to the harbour, where she parked the car and took the dogs for a run. She had coffee in a small café near by and then drove back to Lustleigh. When she reached the cottage and let herself in she realised that she felt lonely, despite the animals’ company.

  She wandered through the house, picking things up and putting them down again and, since Mrs Parfitt had left everything in apple-pie order, there was nothing for her to do except get the lunch.

  A long walk did much to dispel her gloom and took up the time nicely until she could get her tea, and then it was the evening and Paul had said that he would phone…

  She wondered how long it would take him to get there; it was a long way and he might be too tired to ring up.

  Of course he did, though; she was watching the six o’clock news when the phone rang and she rushed to it, fearful that he might ring off before she reached it.

  Yes, his cool voice assured her, he had had a very pleasant drive, not all that tiring, and he had already seen two patients who needed his particular skills. ‘I have a clinic tomorrow morning,’ he told her, ‘and then a lecture before dining with friends. I may phone rather later. You enjoyed your drive to Brixham?’

  ‘Yes. We went for a long walk this afternoon; Willy got a thorn in his paw but I got it out. I’m getting their suppers…’

  ‘In that case, don’t let me keep you. Sleep well, Emma.’

  He didn’t wait for her answer but hung up.

  An unsatisfactory conversation, thought Emma, snivelling into the dog food. He hadn’t asked her if she was lonely or cautioned her kindly about locking up securely; indeed, he had asked hardly any questions about her at all.

  She poked around in the fridge and ate two cold sausages and a carton of yoghurt, then took herself off to bed after letting the dogs out and then bolting and barring all the doors and the windows. She had no reason to feel nervous—it was a pity that she didn’t know that the village constable, alerted by Sir Paul, had made it his business to keep an eye on her.

  She lay awake for a long time, thinking about Paul. She missed him dreadfully; it was as though only half of her were alive—to have him home was all she wanted, and never mind if they no longer enjoyed their pleasant comradeship. She would have to learn to take second place to Diana and be thankful for that.

  ‘But why he couldn’t have married her and been done with it, I don’t know,’ Emma observed to the sleeping Queenie and, naturally enough, got no answer.

  She walked to the village stores after breakfast, took her purchases home and went off for another walk with the dogs. The fine weather held and the sun shone, and out on the moors her worries seemed of no account. They went back home with splendid appetites and, having filled the dogs’ bowls and attended to Queenie’s more modest needs, Emma had her own lunch. The day was half done, and in the evening Paul would phone again.

  She was putting away the last spoons and forks when there was a thump on the door-knocker. She wiped her hands on her apron and went to open it.

  Diana stood there, beautifully dressed, exquisitely made-up, and smiling.

  ‘Emma—I’ve been lunching at Bovey Tracey and I just had to come and see you. I know Paul’s in Edinburgh and I thought you might like a visit. I’m surprised he didn’t take you with him. It’s great for a professor’s image to have a wife, you know.’

  She had walked past Emma as she held the door open and now stood in the hall, looking round. ‘Nothing’s changed,’ she observed and heaved a sigh. ‘I never liked that portrait over the table, but Paul said he was a famous surgeon in his day and he wouldn’t move him.’

  She smiled at Emma, and Emma smiled back. ‘Well, it is Paul’s house,’ she said pleasantly. ‘Would you like a cup of coffee?’

  ‘I’d love one.’ Diana had taken off her jacket and thrown it over a chair. ‘I had the most ghastly lunch at the Prostle-Hammetts and the coffee was undrinkable.’

  It was the kind of remark Diana would make, thought Emma as she led the way into the drawing-room.

  ‘Oh, the dogs,’ cried Diana. ‘We always had such fun together…’

  Neither dog took any notice of her, which cheered Emma enormously—they were on her side.

  ‘Do sit down,’ she said. ‘I’ll fetch the coffee.’

  ‘Can I help? I know my way around, you know.’

  ‘No, no. Sit down here—you look a bit pinched. I expect you’re tired.’ She saw Diana’s frown and the quick peek in the great Chippendale mirror over the fireplace.

  In the kitchen she poured the coffee and wondered why Diana had come. To see how she had settled in as Paul’s wife? Or just to needle her? Emma told herself stoutly that she wasn’t going to believe anything Diana said. After all, so far she had done nothing but hint at her close friendship with Paul; all that nonsense about her love distracting him from his work had been nothing but moonshine. All the same, Diana had played a dirty trick on her when she had been at the nursery and she wasn’t to be trusted.

  She took the coffee-tray in, offered sugar and cream and sat down opposite her unwelcome guest. She didn’t believe that Diana had called out of friendliness—it was probably just out of curiosity.

  ‘Paul has a busy few days in Edinburgh,’ said Diana. ‘Patients yesterday and today after that long drive, and a clinic tomorrow. What a blessing it is that he has good friends—we always dined there…’ She cast a sidelong look at Emma and gave a little laugh. ‘Of course, everyone expected us to marry.’

  ‘Then why didn’t you?’ Emma lifted the coffee-pot. ‘More coffee?’

  ‘No, thanks—I have to think of my figure.’

  Emma said pertly, ‘Well, yes, I suppose you do; we none of us grow any younger do we?’

  Diana put her cup and saucer down. ‘Look, Emma, you don’t like me and I don’t like you, but that doesn’t alter the fact that Paul still loves me. He married you for all kinds of worthy reasons: you’re an ideal wife for a busy man who is seldom at home; you don’t complain; you’re not pretty enough to attract other men. I dare say you’re a good housewife and you won’t pester him to take you out to enjoy the bright lights. As I said, you’re an ideal wife for him. He’s fond of you, I suppose—but loving you? I don’t suppose you know what that means; you’re content with a mild affection, aren’t you? Whereas he…’

  She had contrived to get tears in her eyes and Emma, seeing them, had sudden doubts.

  ‘We love each other,’ said Diana quietly. ‘He has married you and he’ll be a kind and good husband to you but you must understand that that is all he will ever be. I know you think I’m not worthy of him, and I know I’m not.’ She blinked away another tear. ‘He’s not happy, you know, Emma.’

  Emma said, ‘You could go away—right away.’

  Diana said simply, ‘He would come after me—don’t you know that? There’s nothing I can do—I’ve talked and talked and he won’t listen.’ She looked at Emma. ‘It is you who must go, Emma.’

  Emma, looking at her and not trusting her an inch, found herself half believi
ng her. She detested Diana, but if Paul loved her that didn’t matter, did it? However, she didn’t quite believe Diana; she would need proof.

  Where would she get proof? It would have to be something that would hold water, not vague hints. She said, ‘I don’t intend to go, Diana.’

  She got up to answer the phone and it was Paul. His quiet voice sounded reassuring to her ear. ‘It will be late before I can phone you this evening so it seemed sensible to do so now. Is everything all right at home?’

  ‘Yes, thank you—have you been busy?’

  ‘Yes. I’ll be here for another two days. Do you fetch Mrs Parfitt back tomorrow?’

  ‘No, the day after.’

  ‘You’re not lonely?’

  ‘No. Diana is here, paying a flying visit.’

  She heard the change in his voice. ‘I’ll speak to her, Emma.’

  ‘It’s Paul; he’d like a word with you.’ Emma handed the phone to Diana. ‘I’ll take the coffee out to the kitchen.’

  Which she did, but not before she heard Diana’s rather loud, ‘Darling…’

  CHAPTER NINE

  EMMA hesitated for a moment; to nip back and listen at the door was tempting, but not very practical with the coffee-tray in her hands. She went to the kitchen, letting the door bang behind her, put the tray on the table and then returned noiselessly to the hall. The drawing-room door was ajar; she could hear Diana very clearly.

  ‘I’ll be at home until Friday. Goodbye, Paul.’

  Emma retreated smartly to the kitchen and rattled a few cups and saucers and then went back to the drawing-room, shutting the baize door to the kitchen with a thump. Diana was putting on her coat.

  ‘My dear, I must go. Thanks for the coffee, and I’m so glad to see that you’ve altered nothing in the cottage.’ She paused, pulling on her gloves. ‘Emma, you will think over what I have said, won’t you? It sounds cruel but we are all unhappy now, aren’t we? If you let Paul go then there would be only one of us unhappy, and since you don’t love him you’ll get over it quickly enough. He’ll treat you well—financially, I mean.’