And Miss Johnson had unbent very slightly, pleased to find that Emma really enjoyed her work at the library. She had even had a chat about her own taste in books, deploring the lack of interest in most of the borrowers for what she called a ‘good class of book’. As for Phoebe, who did her work in a cheerful slapdash fashion, Emma liked her and listened sympathetically whenever Phoebe found the time to tell her of her numerous boyfriends.
But Mrs Brooke-Tigh didn’t unbend. Emma was doing a menial’s job, therefore she was treated as such; she checked the cottages with an eagle eye but beyond a distant nod had nothing to say. Emma didn’t mind the cleaning but she did not like Mrs Brooke-Tigh; once the season was over she would look around for another job, something where she might meet friendly people. In a bar? she wondered, having very little idea of what that would be like. But at least there would be people and she might meet someone.
Did Dr van Dyke go into pubs? she wondered. Probably not. He wouldn’t have time. She thought about him, rather wistfully, from time to time, when she was tired and lonely for the company of someone her own age. The only way she would get to know him was to get ill. And she never got ill…
Spring was sliding into early summer; at the weekends the narrow streets were filled by visiting yachtsmen and family parties driving down for a breath of sea air and a meal at one of the pubs. And with them, one Sunday, came Derek.
Mrs Dawson was going out to lunch with one of her bridge friends, persuaded that Emma didn’t mind being on her own. ‘We will go to evensong together,’ said her mother, ‘but it is such a treat to have luncheon with people I like, dear, and I knew you wouldn’t mind.’
She peered at herself in the mirror. ‘Is this hat all right? I really need some new clothes.’
‘You look very smart, Mother, and the hat’s just right. Have a lovely lunch. I’ll have tea ready around four o’clock.’
Alone, Emma went into the tiny courtyard beyond the kitchen and saw to the tubs of tulips and the wallflowers growing against the wall. She would have an early lunch and go for a walk—a long walk. North Sands, perhaps, and if the little kiosk by the beach there was open she would have a cup of coffee. She went back into the cottage as someone banged the door knocker.
Derek stood there, dressed very correctly in a blazer and cords, Italian silk tie and beautifully polished shoes. For a split second Emma had a vivid mental picture of an elderly sweater and uncombed hair.
‘What on earth are you doing here?’ she wanted to know with a regrettable lack of delight.
Derek gave her a kind smile. He was a worthy young man with pleasant manners and had become accustomed to being liked and respected.
He said now, ‘I’ve surprised you…’
‘Indeed you have.’ Emma added reluctantly. ‘You’d better come in.’
Derek looked around him. ‘A nice little place—rather different from Richmond, though. Has your mother settled down?’
‘Yes. Why are you here?’
‘I wanted to see you, Emma. To talk. If you would change into a dress we could have lunch—I’m staying at the other end of the town.’
‘We can talk here. I’ll make cheese sandwiches…’
‘My dear girl, you deserve more than a cheese sandwich. We can talk over lunch at the hotel.’
‘What about?’
‘Something which will please you…’
Perhaps something they hadn’t known anything about had been salvaged from her father’s estate…She said slowly, ‘Very well. You’ll have to wait while I change, though, and I must be back before four o’clock. Mother’s out to lunch.’
While she changed out of trousers and a cotton top into something suitable to accompany Derek’s elegance, she wondered what he had come to tell her. Mr Trump had hinted when they had left their home that eventually there might be a little more money. Perhaps Derek had brought it with him.
When she went downstairs he was standing by the window, watching the people strolling along the path.
‘Of course you can’t possibly stay here. This poky little place—nothing to do all day.’
She didn’t bother to answer him, and he said impatiently, ‘We shall have to walk; I left the car at the hotel.’
They walked, saying little. ‘I can’t think why you can’t tell me whatever it is at once,’ said Emma.
‘In good time.’ They got out of the road onto the narrow pavement to allow a car to creep past. Dr van Dyke was sitting in it. If he saw her he gave no sign.
The hotel was full. They had drinks in the bar and were given a table overlooking the estuary, but Derek ignored the magnificent view while he aired his knowledge with the wine waiter.
I should be enjoying myself, reflected Emma, and I’m not.
Derek talked about his work, mutual friends she had known, the new owner of her old home.
Emma polished off the last of her trifle. ‘Are you staying here on holiday?’
‘No, I must return tomorrow.’
‘Then you’d better tell me whatever it is.’ She glanced at the clock. ‘It’s half past two…’
He gave a little laugh. ‘Can’t get rid of me soon enough, Emma?’
He put his hand over hers on the table. ‘Dear Emma, I have given much thought to this. The scandal of your father’s bankruptcy has died down; there are no debts, no need for people to rake over cold ashes. There is no likelihood of it hindering my career. I have come to ask you to marry me. I know you have no money and a difficult social position, but I flatter myself that I can provide both of these for my wife. In a few years the whole unfortunate matter will be forgotten. I have the deepest regard for you and you will, I know, make me an excellent wife.’
Emma had listened to this speech without moving or uttering a sound. She was so angry that she felt as though she would explode or burst into flames. She got to her feet, a well brought up young woman who had been reared to good manners and politeness whatever the circumstances.
‘Get stuffed,’ said Emma, and walked out of the restaurant, through the bar and swing doors and into the car park.
She was white with rage and shaking, and heedless of where she was walking. Which was why she bumped into Dr van Dyke’s massive chest.
She stared up into his placid face. ‘The worm, the miserable rat,’ she raged. ‘Him and his precious career…’
The doctor said soothingly, ‘This rat, is he still in the hotel? You don’t wish to meet him again?’
‘If I were a man I’d knock him down…’ She sniffed and gulped and two tears slid down her cheeks.
‘Then perhaps it would be a good idea if you were to sit in my car for a time—in case he comes looking for you. And, if you would like to, tell me what has upset you.’
He took her arm and walked her to the car. He popped her inside and got in beside her. ‘Have a good cry if you want to, and then I’ll drive you home.’
He gave her a large handkerchief and sat patiently while she sniffed and snuffled and presently blew her nose and mopped her face. He didn’t look at her, he was watching a man—presumably the rat—walking up and down the car park, looking around him. Presently he went back into the hotel and the doctor said, ‘He’s a snappy dresser, your rat.’
She sat up straight. ‘He’s gone? He didn’t see me?’
‘No.’ The doctor settled back comfortably. ‘What has he done to upset you? It must have been something