Winter Wedding. Бетти Нилс

to get a house, you know—not if you’re not married.’

      ‘Er—probably not. I’m lost in admiration that you can work full time and run a house and a baby as well.’

      ‘Well, Louisa—she’s my sister, is staying with me until she can go to school for modelling—she’s waiting for a place.’

      His eyes flickered over her sensible coat, wellingtons and woolly cap pulled well down. ‘She must be a pretty girl.’

      ‘Oh, she is,’ said Emily enthusiastically, ‘and she’s only just eighteen.’

      He smiled faintly. ‘And you, Emily? how old are you?’

      ‘Twenty-three, almost twenty-four.’

      ‘And Claire?’

      ‘Eight months.’

      ‘You moved here because of her, of course,’ he suggested smoothly.

      Emily had her mouth open to explain and then thought better of it. He couldn’t possibly be interested. She frowned a little and said ‘Yes’ and nothing more. And then, because he just stood there, saying nothing, she said: ‘I must be getting on; it’s cold for Claire if I stand still.’

      ‘Of course.’ He got on his horse, raised his crop in salute and rode on, leaving her to continue her walk while she discussed the meeting with Claire, who chuckled and crowed and didn’t answer back, which was nice. She was almost home again when the thought crossed her mind that the Professor might have thought Claire to be her baby. She stopped in the middle of the pavement, so that people hurrying past had to push against her.

      ‘But that’s absurd,’ said Emily, out loud. ‘I’m not married.’

      The elderly woman squeezing past her, running over her wellingtons with one of those beastly little carriers on wheels, paused to say: ‘Then you ought to be, my girl!’

      Emily delivered a telling kick at the carrier; better than nothing, for she could think of nothing to answer back.

      She went back on duty the next morning, on day duty now, but still on ENT. The wards were as busy as ever and Mr Spencer cheered her up by the warmth of his welcome. Of the Professor there was no sign; she went back home that evening wondering what had happened to him. She hadn’t liked to ask and she had gone late to her dinner, so that she hadn’t had a chance to talk to any of her friends.

      He was there on the following morning, though, doing a round with Mr Spencer and his house surgeon, Sister and the speech therapist, a young woman whom Emily envied, for she was tall and slim and always said the right thing so that even the Professor listened to her when she had something to say, and smiled too. He didn’t smile at Emily, only wished her a chilly good morning and requested a patient’s notes. On her way home later, pedalling briskly through the crowded streets, she saw him again, driving a beautiful Jaguar XJ Spider. It was a silver-grey, Italian designed and probably worth a very great deal of money. He lifted a nonchalant hand in greeting as he slid past her which she had to ignore; there was so much traffic about that if she had lifted a hand from the handlebar she would certainly have fallen off.

      Louisa wanted to go to the cinema, so Emily stayed home, contentedly enough because she had had a hard day. The little sitting room, rather bare of furniture, yet looked cosy enough in the firelight; she sat by it and sewed for the twins by the light of the lamp at her elbow.

      There was a good programme on Radio Three and she allowed her thoughts to idle along with Brahms and Grieg and Delius. They returned over and over again to the Professor—too much so, she told herself severely; it was pointless to get even the faintest bit interested in him when he could hardly bear the sight of her. Besides, with a car like that, he obviously came from an entirely different background from her own. She folded her needlework carefully, left everything ready for Louisa to make herself a hot drink when she came in, and went to bed.

      CHAPTER THREE

      EMILY SAW saw almost nothing of Professor Jurres- Romeijn during the next few days; beyond stopping one morning to tell her that Doctor Wright was progressing just as he should, he had nothing to say to her other than a good morning or a good evening when he came to the ward. For some reason she felt vaguely discontented and miserable, perhaps because William had caught Claire’s cold. She was worried about Mary too; she had had a guarded letter saying that they hoped to come home before very long, but it really held no news. She confided her worries to Louisa, who treated the matter more lightly. ‘Well, they must be safe enough,’ she pointed out, ‘otherwise Mary wouldn’t write, would she? I expect there’s some sort of delay— you know what it is—some form not filled in properly…’

      Emily told herself that she was fussing unnecessarily and resolved not to worry about it. Instead she worried about money. They lived on a tight budget, getting tighter every day, and sooner or later she would have to face up to what she was going to do when Louisa left home. She had suggested tentatively that Louisa might postpone the modelling school for a month or two, to be met with such a shower of reproaches that she hadn’t said any more about it. She had a few savings, she would have to use them, every penny, to pay for a babyminder—if she could find one she could trust. Mary would pay her back when they came back to England, but it would leave her with the nasty feeling that there was nothing to fall back on if an emergency cropped up.

      When she got home that evening Louisa met her with scarcely concealed excitement. ‘I say,’ she began before Emily could get her coat off, ‘I was out with Tracey’—Tracey was the girl across the road with whom she sometimes went out—’ well, we were just going to cross the road when this fab car pulled up to let us go over—a huge silver thing, Emily, you never saw anything like it—well, there was this terrific man sitting at the wheel…’ She broke off to exclaim: ‘Why didn’t you tell me, Emily?’ And not waiting for an answer: ‘And Tracey said that he was the visiting professor at the hospital and when I asked her where, she said Ear, Nose and Throat Wards—you never said a word…’