A Betty Neels Christmas: A Christmas Proposal\Winter Wedding (13 page)

‘I've seen a dress,' Louisa was all smiles now, ‘blue organza—quite super.'

‘Yes, but how much?'

‘Sixty pounds.' She wasn't going to tell Emily eighty because that sounded too much.

To Emily sixty pounds was bad enough. ‘You'll have to get sandals from your allowance—there are plenty of cheap ones and no one will see them under a long dress.'

Louisa looked mutinous but agreed quickly. ‘Tracey will lend me that white shawl her mother brought back from Madeira. Oh, Emily darling, won't it be heavenly? I mean, he's so good-looking and I'm sure everyone will be jealous…'

Emily didn't mention Sammy's invitation; it hardly seemed the right moment. She wept a bit in bed that night; the crêpe, brought from the recesses of the wardrobe, looked limp and old-fashioned and its colour did nothing for her. She could cry off, she supposed, but her friends would want to know why. Before she went to sleep, she got out of bed and took another look at the crêpe. It was awful!

She had a free evening on the day of the ball, and because she had had a busy day she was tired and a little peevish by the time she got home. Louisa was having a bath and the twins were screaming their heads off in their cots, so that Emily had to see to them first. By the time she had settled them again,
Louisa had come downstairs, wrapped in a dressing gown, her hair piled on top of her head.

‘I had my bath early,' she explained, ‘so the water will be hot enough for you—sorry about the twins, they were all right when I left them. Mrs Crewe's coming at seven, isn't she? She'll give them their supper.'

‘They have their supper at six o'clock,' said Emily crossly. ‘Really, Louisa, you might have got it ready.'

‘How could I? I've got to get myself dressed, haven't I? He's coming at eight o'clock, and I've got my nails to do…'

Emily put on the kettle. A cup of tea might restore her good humour. She wished now that Sammy was coming to fetch her instead of her having to have a taxi back to the hospital, but at least she'd be gone before the Professor arrived for Louisa. She had hardly seen him during the last few days and he hadn't said a word to her about inviting Louisa. But then why should he?

The tea restored her to a certain extent. She fed the twins, left them in their high chairs while she did her nails, washed her hair and got her things ready before putting them into their cots and having her bath. The water wasn't hot—it took ages to heat up and now it was tepid, but at least it meant that she didn't waste time over it. In her dressing gown she did her face carefully, putting on a little too much of everything in her efforts to look like all the other girls, brushed her shining clean hair smooth and put it up, then went downstairs to let Mrs Crewe in. She spent ten minutes
showing that lady where everything was and introducing her to William and Claire, then went away to put on her dress.

She wasn't going to be the belle of the ball, that was for certain; no amount of pressing could conceal its faintly dowdy air. Its round neck, unfashionably modest, needed something to detract from it; the silver locket on its thick chain which she had had from her grandmother years ago. She went to get it and frowned when it wasn't in its usual place. Surely Louisa wouldn't have taken it to wear…she crossed the bare little landing and opened her sister's door.

Louisa was standing in the middle of the room. She looked quite beautiful in the blue organza dress, her hair falling round her shoulders in curls, her face exquisitely made up. In her hands she held a pair of silver sandals—expensive ones—and on the bed was a silver kid evening bag, lying on top of a silver gauze shawl.

‘Louisa…' began Emily, then stopped while she took it all in. ‘Those sandals—they must have cost the earth—and that bag and the shawl. Where did you get the money?'

Louisa looked scared and then defiant. ‘I don't see why I should have to wear cheap sandals or borrow Tracey's silly shawl. I bought these…'

‘I can see that. What with?'

Louisa turned to face her. ‘I sold your silver locket…'

Emily's wide soft mouth opened with shock. ‘My locket! But it's mine, you couldn't sell it!'

‘Well, I did—what's the use of it to you, and I had to have the right things. I can't bear cheap clothes… You grudge me everything, just because you're not pretty, you're trying to turn me into a dull creature like you.'

Emily didn't answer. She was hurt and bewildered and wildly angry and later, when she felt better about it, she'd have something to say to Louisa. ‘How much did that dress really cost?' she asked quietly.

‘If you must know—eighty pounds.'

‘And how much did you get for my locket and where did you sell it?'

‘I got eighty pounds for it, at Wetherby's in the High Street.'

Emily turned on her heel and went back to her room, picked up her winter coat and went downstairs after peeping at the twins, sound asleep.

‘I don't expect I'll be very late,' she told Mrs Crewe. ‘You sure you'll be all right?'

The older woman smiled at her. ‘Of course, Emily. You go along and enjoy yourself. I used to love the annual ball when I was your age.' She looked past Emily. ‘Where's Louisa? Aren't you going together?'

‘Professor Jurres-Romeijn is coming for her at eight o'clock. I'm going now—there's the taxi outside—I'm meeting Sammy at the entrance.'

Mrs Crewe didn't think much of Sammy, but she wasn't going to spoil Emily's evening by saying so. ‘Well, have fun, my dear. I'll see you later.'

Sammy was waiting just inside the hospital entrance and Emily took instant exception to his pink
frilled shirt and the way his long hair hung over his collar, but neither that nor his laconic greeting were going to spoil her evening. She greeted him with calm friendliness and went away to take off her coat. The surgeons' dining room, turned into a temporary cloakroom, was full of women and as far as Emily could see in one hasty glance round, they were all dressed in the height of fashion. No one had a neckline like hers, they all plunged wildly or had no neckline at all. She greeted some of her friends, peeped into the mirror and went back to the entrance.

Dancing was in full swing. Sammy led her straight on to the dance floor, greeting his friends as he went, and began weaving and twisting, not bothering to see if she was following suit, but, frumpy dress and the wrong make-up notwithstanding, Emily followed very nicely; she was a born dancer and presently Sammy paid her the compliment of saying so. ‘Though looking at you, no one would know,' he assured her.

She beamed at him, her cheeks pink with pleasure and exercise, which was unfortunate as she had applied Elizabeth Arden blusher rather too lavishly and during the interval, after Sammy had brought her a glass of cup—the only drink the Principal Nursing Officer would allow during the dancing—the pink became red.

‘Like it?' asked Sammy slyly, and gave her another glassful, and the moment she had downed it, pulled her back on to the dance floor. The evening, thought Emily, in a pale pink haze, was being fun after all and why had she been worrying, anyway? Everything
was wonderful. She began to sing to the music and only stopped when Louisa and the Professor, caught up in the crush, appeared alongside her. She only paused long enough to say ‘Hullo' before she turned her back on them.

She had another glass of cup presently and then somehow Sammy disappeared, leaving her to stand on the edge of the floor, still feeling carefree and not very worried. Presently she saw him with a young girl with fiery red hair and an outrageous dress. They passed close to her and Sammy looked at her as though he hadn't seen her before. She couldn't see the Professor or Louisa and feeling conspicuous, she sat down, half hidden by a potted palm. She felt very warm and she supposed it was the heat and the noise which made her feel so peculiar.

The Professor had seen her, though, and kept his eyes on her while half listening to Louisa's chat. But suddenly he was all attention; Louisa, convinced that she had his admiration and was enslaved by her pretty face, was telling him about the locket. ‘I think it was rather clever of me to have thought of it,' she observed smugly. ‘I simply had to have some new clothes and Emily didn't give me nearly enough money.'

The Professor's voice was deceptively soft. ‘Did she not? Do tell me about it.'

The telling lasted until the dance was over, when the Professor, acting with bland speed, introduced Louisa to Tom Spencer, excused himself with a prac
tised murmur and made his way to where Emily was sitting.

She was in the act of drinking from the glass Sammy had thrust into her hand as he went past her, the redhaired girl on his arm. She wasn't thirsty any more, but it was something to do. It was a bit of a surprise when it was taken from her hand and the Professor said gently: ‘I shouldn't if I were you. It's supposed to be a harmless cup, but some joker poured several bottles of vodka into it.' He studied her red face, looking a little strange now by reason of the blusher competing with her own flushed cheeks. ‘How many glasses have you had?'

She stared up at him. He looked a little woolly round the edges and she had a strong wish to get up and dance with him whether he asked her or not.

‘How many?'

‘Three—and some of this one.'

‘God, you're half stoned,' remarked the Professor edgily. He caught her by the hand and heaved her to her feet. ‘Come along, we're going to get some black coffee into you.' He looked round him. ‘Where's that punk type you came with?' He added strongly: ‘And why in heaven's name did you come with him?'

‘No one else asked me,' said Emily.

He tucked her hand under his arm. ‘I'm getting too old for this kind of thing,' he observed. ‘We'll find somewhere quiet—you can sleep it off if you want to.'

He was walking her briskly round the edge of the
ballroom, but she stopped to look at him. ‘Oh, but you can't do that—what about Louisa?'

‘Louisa is quite capable of looking after herself—which is more than can be said of you. Come along.'

She didn't feel able to do much about it; he took her through a door and down a passage and into the consultants' sitting room. There was no one there, but the Professor pressed one of the wall bells and when a waiter appeared, asked for a tray of coffee. When it came he glanced at Emily, sitting back untidily in a too big armchair, and poured out two cups.

‘Drink that,' he commanded, ‘and when you've finished it, you'll drink another.'

She sat sipping the scalding drink and half way through said: ‘I've rather a bad headache.'

‘The vodka. It'll wear off.' He was sitting back in his own chair watching her. Presently he refilled her cup and asked: ‘Why are you wearing such an unbecoming dress when Louisa is decked out in the latest fashion? Have you no money?'

At any other time she would have been furious at his daring to ask such a question, but somehow it didn't matter now. ‘Not enough for both of us.'

‘I have a sister of my own,' he observed suavely, ‘so I'm not entirely ignorant of girls' clothing…'

‘And I expect you've had lots of girl-friends,' remarked Emily; the black coffee was winning, but the vodka still had a kick in it.

‘Any number. Which leads me to observe that she is also wearing expensive sandals—I imagine her outfit cost upwards of one hundred and fifty pounds or
so. Surely you could both have had new dresses for that?'

‘Oh, yes, of course, but Louisa had set her heart on this particular dress, you see, and I—I didn't mind—well, not very much.'

The Professor snorted. ‘You're lying,' he said genially, ‘but since your motives are good I'll not dig deeper.' He smiled suddenly. ‘I don't need to, anyway.'

A remark which meant very little to her, although she was beginning to feel more normal now although she had to admit to herself, not at all happy.

‘Shall I find your partner for you?' asked the Professor. ‘Not that you're in any condition to dance.'

She shook her head. ‘No, thank you—he's dancing with a girl with red hair—she's very pretty.' Two tears overflowed and ran down her cheeks—the vodka having its final fling. ‘I'm quite all right now, thank you. I'm sure you must want to go back to the ballroom.'

The Professor stretched out his very long legs and contemplated the black patent pumps on the end of them. ‘No, I don't want to go back—I like dancing in moderation and with the right girl. I'm going to take you home.'

Emily sat up. ‘Oh, no, you're not,' she said fiercely, ‘it's only eleven o'clock, I can get a taxi. Besides,' she tossed her head, ‘I'm not sure that I want to go yet.'

‘You're not capable of being sure of anything at
the moment,' observed the Professor. ‘You're going home.'

He took her down back passages to find her coat, helped her on with it, then went through a side door to where the Jag was parked. She curled up beside him, sniffing at the pleasant mixture of cigars and leather.

‘You're very kind,' she said it carefully, because the words tripped her tongue.

‘I can remember being very unkind to you, Emily.' He didn't look at her as he drove the big car through the quiet streets.

She said in a small voice: ‘Oh, is that why you're taking me home now?'

‘No. Mrs Crewe is there, I understand?'

Emily nodded in the dark. ‘I said I'd be back by one o'clock.'

They didn't say any more but drove the short distance in silence until he drew up outside the house, where he took her latch-key from her, opened the door, pushed her gently into the narrow hall and came in after her, filling it to capacity.

‘It's all right, Mrs Crewe,' he called softly. ‘I've brought Emily back.'