by Julie Cohen
‘You like him very much, don’t you?’ her father asked. She nodded. ‘Then I hope we shall all like him, too.’
‘Polly already does,’ said Emily, wincing as a blast of Petula Clark came from upstairs.
It took some doing to manage to escape Polly’s clutches and go for a walk, just the two of them, together under an umbrella, holding hands. They wandered down the muddy and dripping lanes, hidden by hedgerows, and Robbie stole kisses every few steps.
Emily had never felt so incandescently happy.
‘Your family are nice,’ Robbie said.
‘You haven’t met my mother yet. She’s being . . . difficult.’
‘Well, she hasn’t met me yet. I’ll win her over with my Yankee charm.’
‘Not to doubt your Yankee charm, but Mum is very good at not changing her mind. We have an interesting relationship, where she tells me everything that’s wrong with me and I’m not allowed to return the favour.’
‘Your father seems great, though. And Polly’s a peach.’
‘Polly doesn’t have the same problems with Mum that I do. It’s easier between them, for some reason. But Dad is great, yes.’
‘I see why you admire him so much.’
‘I want to be just like him. Except a quiet country practice doesn’t really appeal to me; I’d rather be somewhere that I can really help people. In a hospital, or maybe abroad.’
‘If you keep practising, you can be a sailing doctor. Going from port to port, helping all that are in need.’
‘Wearing a swimming costume and a tiara like Wonder Woman.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t complain.’ He stopped them and kissed her, thoroughly. ‘I’m so very glad to see you, sweetheart. I thought about you every day.’
‘I know,’ she murmured. ‘I’ve had your letters.’
‘And I’ve had yours at every port. You can’t imagine how long that made every journey, knowing I had a letter from you waiting for me when I got there.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘You shouldn’t be.’
She kissed his forehead, his cheeks, his eyebrows. He didn’t feel like a stranger at all. ‘This is crazy, you know.’
‘It’s a good kind of crazy.’ He wrapped his arms round her waist and lifted her up. ‘I think it’s the kind of crazy that only happens once in a lifetime.’
‘I hope so. I couldn’t deal with the stress, otherwise.’
He put her down. ‘I’ve had a lot of time to think while we’ve been apart.’
‘Dennis and Art must have loved that.’
‘They laugh at me and call me a changed man. Art is convinced it’s his chance to become the boat Casanova. By the time I’d left Italy, I think he was engaged to seven different girls.’
‘Maybe he’ll stay and marry them all.’
‘More likely he’ll be forced out of the country by Italian grandmothers carrying pitchforks and flaming torches.’ He smiled. ‘They were planning to go on to Greece, and then maybe North Africa, if they could get work. Bring the Nora Mae back next spring.’
‘You’ve missed that. That’s what you wanted to do – travel and see the world. You should have gone with them.’
‘Nah. I wanted to see you more.’ He hugged her tight. ‘Anyway, this is a nice part of the world to see, too. England is so ridiculously green.’
‘That would be all the rain.’
‘I’d rather be in the rain with you, than in the bright sunshine with a dozen grandmotherless Italian girls. Speaking of which . . .’ He dug into his pocket and pulled out something. It was a small leather box. He put it into Emily’s hand.
It was red, with gold edging. Emily stared at it. ‘This had better not be what I think it might be.’
‘Open it and see.’
Slowly, she opened it. Nestled on white velvet was a gold ring. It was fashioned into the shape of two clasped hands, smaller female inside larger male. She caught her breath.
She had never seen it before, but it was perfect. Two equal hands clasped, together, captured in gold, forever.
‘I couldn’t afford a diamond,’ Robbie was saying, ‘but this is a traditional Italian ring. It’s not new, either, so if you don’t like it, I can find something—’
Tears brimming, she raised her eyes to his. He stopped talking.
For the first time since she had met him, he looked less than entirely confident. The realisation made her swallow, hard.
‘It’s beautiful,’ she managed. ‘It’s . . .’ She wiped a tear from her eye. ‘Robbie, we can’t.’
‘We can.’
‘We’re not even from the same country. And you want to travel, and I . . . I have four years left before I qualify, and then all the training. We can’t get married.’
‘Sweetheart, we can do anything we want to do.’
She shook her head. ‘Where would we live? How could we be together? You have dreams and I have dreams too.’
‘From the minute I met you, I haven’t had any dreams that didn’t include you somehow.’
‘But how?’
‘I don’t know. I can stay in England for a while, working in boatyards. Maybe we’ll just have to write to each other until you’ve finished your degree. Whatever we have to do, we can do it. I don’t mind waiting, Emily. I don’t mind waiting years.’
‘We hardly know each other.’
‘We know everything that matters. Don’t we?’
She gazed up at him through a haze of tears. Robbie was crazy – impulsive, risk-taking, brave, able to change his entire life on a chance encounter. She . . . was not. She planned, made goals, took baby steps, worked hard.
She loved him. She had no idea how it had happened, but she did. He had lodged himself inside her heart and changed every single thing about her.
Robbie hit himself on the forehead. ‘Oh wait, I’m doing this totally wrong. Let’s try this.’ He took the ring box, gave her the umbrella, and knelt down in the lane in front of her. His knees were in muddy puddles. The rain immediately began to run down his face.
‘Emily Greaves, I love you. However it happens, whatever it takes, I want to spend my life with you. Whatever life throws our way, I promise you, we will find a way through it as long as we’re together.’ He took the ring out of the box and held it up, a perfect gold circle, two clasped hands.
‘Will you marry me?’
‘Robbie . . .’
A fat drop of water rolled off the umbrella and hit him on the forehead. He didn’t move: just held the ring up, gazed steadily into her face.
‘Oh for goodness’ sake, get up out of the mud. This is silly. If we’re still together in a year, then maybe we can talk about it, but . . . Can’t we just be happy in the time that we have?’
‘We can do that, too. But we’ll be happier if you promise to marry me. Please, Emily?’
His dark brown eyes, his mouth that was often smiling but now was serious. The haircut he’d got especially for her, the way the rain had soaked his shirt collar. The way he saw life as an adventure. The ring he’d bought for her many hundreds of miles away that she had never seen before but she had recognised, straight away, as the right one, the only one.
‘All right,’ she said. ‘Yes, Robbie. Yes, I will.’
Wonder broke over his face. Cleared the sky of clouds.
He slipped the ring on her finger and it fitted perfectly as she knew somehow that it would. Then he stood and held her and kissed her and it was some time before either of them realised that they had dropped the umbrella.
Robbie went up to the guest room to change his wet and muddy trousers, and Emily went into the kitchen. There was an aroma of cooking, which either meant that her mother was up, or that Polly had started on the supper herself. Either circumstance was cause for worry.
They were both there. Her mother was putt
ing the lid on a pot of potatoes, and Polly was peeling carrots. ‘Are you feeling better?’ she asked her mother, beginning to wash the salad leaves.
‘A little. But it’s getting late, and people are hungry.’
‘You should have stayed in bed. I would have done all this.’
Polly came over to wash the carrots. ‘What is that?’ she squealed, staring fixedly at Emily’s hand. ‘Did he give you that?’
Emily curled her hand around the head of lettuce. She was tempted to slip off the ring, pretend that Polly hadn’t seen anything and swear her to secrecy later. But the ring was beautiful. And she had nothing to be ashamed of.
Her mother joined them at the sink. ‘Emily, is that a ring on your finger?’
‘Yes. It’s from Italy.’
‘Oh, it’s so romantic,’ swooned Polly.
‘Did you not listen to a single thing I told you, Emily?’
She lifted her chin. ‘It’s my life, Mother. I’m a grown adult.’
‘You’re twenty. You know nothing. You think the world’s arranged for your pleasure.’
‘Is it an engagement ring? It’s on that finger, is that what it is?’ asked Polly.
‘We’re not going to get married until we’re ready. I’ve got to finish my degree, and my training, and—’
‘So why even talk about it?’ her mother demanded.
‘Mother, I love him.’
‘Oh Mummy,’ said Polly, ‘they’re so sweet together, his letters, you wouldn’t believe—’
‘Polly,’ said their mother, ‘I would like you to leave the room please.’
Polly shut her mouth. Eyes wide, she left the kitchen, glancing over her shoulder at them. Emily heard her footsteps running upstairs.
On the cooker, the potatoes began to boil and rattle the pot lid.
Emily put the salad aside. ‘It’s my decision to make,’ she said.
Her mother clenched her jaw. ‘You are twenty years old. Some girls are grown up at that age but you are not. You’re still a girl. Everything, all your life, has been done for you. Your father and I have bent over backwards to make sure you’ve had an easy life. So you think everything will just work out. You want something, and it happens.’
‘Mother, that’s not true. I’m grateful. And I’ve worked very hard.’
‘But you’ve known him for five minutes. He’s written you some letters. And you expect to jump right into some sort of happy ever after? You expect him to wait?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘Men aren’t like that, Emily.’
‘Daddy is.’
‘Your father is . . . you can’t expect to meet a man like James every day.’
‘I don’t. I expect to meet one, and fall in love with him, and marry him. In a few years, Mother, when we’re ready.’
‘How do you know he’ll wait? How do you know he’ll come back?’
‘He says he will.’
‘But how do you know?’
‘How do we know anything?’ she asked, exasperated. ‘I trust him and I’m willing to take the risk.’
‘You don’t know what can happen. You’ve been kept so safe you have no idea.’
‘Mother, you haven’t even met Robbie yet.’
‘Um . . . is this a bad time? It’s a bad time, isn’t it?’
She whirled round. Robbie stood in the doorway, a sheepish, appealing smile on his face, and she marvelled at his cheekiness. He fully expected to charm her mother into liking him, even though he must have heard at least part of their conversation.
And she loved him for that. Chancer, full of sunshine and self-belief.
‘Can I help with the dinner?’ he asked. ‘I’m a decent cook as long as you tell me what to do.’
Emily smiled at him and was about to reach out to take his hand when his expression changed rapidly to surprise and concern.
‘Mrs Greaves? Ma’am? Are you all right?’
He started forward, and Emily turned to see her mother, who was standing with her back to the cooker. All of the colour had fallen out of her face. As Emily watched, she dropped the spoon she’d been holding and it clattered to the flagstone floor.
Chapter Thirty-Three
‘Mummy?’
Her mother’s face was a ghastly mask, white with holes for eyes and mouth. Behind her, the potatoes boiled over with a hiss, spilled on to the cooker and put out the gas flame. Her mother continued to stare at Robbie.
‘Get out of my house,’ she said. Her voice a rasp.
‘Mummy?’
Emily touched her mother’s arm. She shook her off.
‘Get out,’ she said to Robbie. ‘Get out of my home. Don’t come back.’
‘Mrs Greaves, I—’
‘Get out!’
She shouted it, screamed it, with her face that mask of horror. A fury Emily had never seen before.
James rushed into the room. ‘Charlotte, what’s wrong?’
‘Get him out. Get him out of here. Get him—’
Robbie backed quickly away. Emily heard the front door close. She stared, wide-eyed, at her mother and her father, who had put his arm around her. Then she ran after Robbie.
He was outside on the drive, in the rain. He looked terrified, which matched how she felt. ‘What just happened?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Why did she tell me to leave? Did I say something wrong?’
‘If you did, I don’t know what it was. She wasn’t . . . she didn’t like the idea of our getting engaged, but this seems . . . ’
‘Is she well? You said she had a headache.’
‘My father’s with her. He’ll look after her. Robbie . . . ’
She stepped into his arms and clung to him. Her mother had been an entirely different person. Completely out of control of herself, gripped by some strong hatred that Emily couldn’t begin to explain.
‘It seemed to happen as soon as she saw me,’ he said. ‘She was looking cross, but when I came in, she just . . . I thought she was going to faint.’
‘She almost seemed to know you. You haven’t met my mother before, have you?’
‘Not that I know of.’ He shook his head. ‘No, I don’t think so. I’d think I’d remember meeting someone who hated me so much.’
‘It’s got to be a mistake. She must think you’re someone else. Or maybe she’s angrier than I thought about our getting engaged.’ She looked up at him. ‘What are we going to do?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You can’t just stand outside. I need to talk with her.’
‘Do you think I should go stay somewhere else?’
‘Robbie, I can’t think of what’s got into her. I’m so sorry.’
‘It’s all right, I don’t mind. I’ll wait till she calms down. Is there a hotel somewhere nearby?’
‘The pub has rooms.’ She hesitated. ‘Maybe it’s best if you don’t go back in the house. I’ll get your bags and borrow Daddy’s car keys. Wait in the car?’
Inside the house, she took the keys from the bowl near the front door, then went to the kitchen and peered in. Mother was sitting at the table now, her head in her hands, her father with his arms around her, stroking her back gently. He’d poured her a glass of water.
‘Mummy?’ she said. Her mother flinched but didn’t look up. She met her father’s eyes, though, and he shook his head slightly.
Polly was hovering at the top of the stairs. ‘What happened?’ she demanded. ‘Why was Mummy screaming? I tried to find out but Daddy sent me away. Who was she shouting at?’
‘I don’t know what’s happening,’ Emily told her. ‘I’m going to take Robbie to the Royal Oak and see if we can get him a room there.’
‘Are you going to stay there with him?’
‘I . . . don’t know.’
‘Is there something wrong with Mummy? Or does she just not like Robbie?’
‘I don’t know, Polly. I don’t know any more than you do. Just . . . don’t bother them for a little while, OK? I’ll see you later.’
They drove to the pub in silence. Emily felt as if something had shattered. The ring on her finger was an unfamiliar weight. She kept glancing at the two hands, clasped together in gold.
At the Royal Oak, Colin Farmer was behind the bar and told them there was an available room. ‘Are you visiting the Greaveses?’ he asked Robbie. ‘They’re wonderful people. My brother would have died if Dr Greaves hadn’t diagnosed his appendix and sent him to hospital. It was this close to bursting.’ He held his fingers an eighth of an inch apart.
‘Yes,’ said Robbie. ‘They’re a great family. Mind pouring me one of those beers? Emily, what will you drink?’
‘A lemonade, please,’ she said.
Colin passed the room key over with Robbie’s change. ‘It’s up the stairs in the lounge bar, first door on your right. I can show you in a minute, after I’ve served these customers.’
‘No need, I’ll find it.’ They took their drinks to a table in the corner. The pub wasn’t that busy, but there were several people whom Emily knew. She nodded faintly to them and returned their greetings, feeling as if she were in some parallel universe where nothing strange had happened.
Robbie downed practically half his pint in one. ‘So what’s the plan?’ he asked her. ‘Are we going to lie low until your mother tells us what’s wrong?’
‘We can’t talk about this here. Most of the people in this pub know my family.’
‘Let’s go upstairs then, where we can talk in private.’
She shook her head. ‘I can’t go up to your room with you.’
‘Of course you can. You can do whatever you like.’
‘You don’t know how quickly word travels around here.’
‘We’re engaged, Emily. And who cares what people think?’
She just sipped her lemonade. The bubbles pricked her tongue and lips.
‘I guess that answers my question about whether you’re going back to the house or staying with me,’ he said.