“Yet I fancy you must have had your chances to marry before now?” said Justin.

“Yes, but only twice, and one was a middle-aged widower.”

“I’m middle-aged, Emma, and I may be a widower.”

Emma said instantly, “No—you’re not, are you?” She tried to see his face, but the moonlight played tricks; his eyes gleamed, whether with amusement or anger she didn’t know.

“And would it make any difference if I were, Emma?”

She gave up trying to read his expression and stared out of the window instead. After a moment or two she said with perfect truth, “None at all,” and, all the same, was extravagantly relieved when he replied:

“Well, I’m not. As I said, I have waited patiently and I think the years of waiting will be worthwhile.”

About the Author

Romance readers around the world were sad to note the passing of BETTY NEELS in June 2001. Her career spanned thirty years, and she continued to write into her ninetieth year. To her millions of fans, Betty epitomized the romance writer, and yet she began writing almost by accident. She had retired from nursing, but her inquiring mind still sought stimulation. Her new career was born when she heard a lady in her local library bemoaning the lack of good romance novels. Betty’s first book, Sister Peters in Amsterdam, was published in 1969, and she eventually completed 134 books. Her novels offer a reassuring warmth that was very much a part of her own personality. She was a wonderful writer, and she will be greatly missed. Her spirit and genuine talent will live on in all her stories.

Wish With the Candles
Betty Neels

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER ONE

MISS EMMA HASTINGS closed her eyes and a shudder ran through her nicely curved person; she opened them again almost immediately, hoping, rather after the manner of a small child, that what she didn’t wish to see would be gone. Of course it wasn’t. The Rolls-Royce Cornische convertible still gleamed blackly within a yard or so of her appalled gaze. In other, happier circumstances she would have been delighted to have had the opportunity of viewing its magnificence at such close quarters, but now, at this moment, she could only wish it on the other side of the world, not here within inches of her, with the bumper of her humble Ford Popular, third hand, locked with the pristine beauty of the Rolls’ own single bumper.

Its driver was getting out and Emma made haste to do the same, quite forgetting that the Ford’s door handle on her side could be temperamental and had taken that moment to jam while she was fiddling with it. As she tugged and pushed she had plenty of time to observe the man strolling towards them. As magnificent as his car, she thought, eyeing his height and breadth of shoulder, and her heart sank as she saw his hair, for it was a dark, rich copper, and redheaded people were notoriously nasty-tempered. Her mother apparently thought otherwise, for she said softly, ‘Oh, Emma, what a remarkably handsome man!’ and Emma, cross because she couldn’t get out, began tartly, ‘Oh, Mother…’ and went on silently fighting the door, which, to make matters worse, yielded instantly under the man’s hand.

She got out then, all five foot three of her, feeling a little better because she was face to face with him even though her eyes were on a level with his tie. She studied its rich silkiness for a long moment and then lifted her gaze to his face. His eyes, she noticed with something of a shock were green, unexpectedly cool. Probably he was furious; she said quickly in her pleasant voice, ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t speak Dutch—it was my fault,’ and smiled with relief when he answered her in English.

‘You were on the wrong side of the road.’ He spoke curtly, but Emma was so relieved to hear her own tongue that she hardly noticed it and went on, ‘I’m so glad you’re English,’ and when he gave her a sudden sharp look and barked ‘Why?’ at her, she explained cheerfully:

‘Well, the Dutch are awfully nice, but they’re not very—very lighthearted…’

He laughed nastily. ‘Indeed? Am I supposed to be lighthearted because I have been run into by a careless girl who has probably damaged my car? You are an appalling driver.’

‘I’m not,’ said Emma with spirit, ‘I’m quite good, only they drive on the wrong side of the road and when I turned the corner I forgot—only for a moment.’ She returned the icy stare from the green eyes with a cool one from her own hazel ones and added with dignity:

‘Of course, I will pay for any damage.’ Her heart sank as she said it; Rolls-Royces were expensive cars, doubtless their repairs cost a good deal more than the lesser fry of the motoring world. She blinked at the unpalatable thought that she would probably be footing the bill—in instalments—for months ahead and ventured uncertainly:

‘Perhaps the damage isn’t too bad.’

The man looked down a nose which reminded her strongly of Wellington’s. ‘Probably extensive,’ he stated evenly, his eyes boring into hers. Emma drew a long breath—it wasn’t any good trying to guess at the cost; she thrust the unpleasant thought to the back of her mind and remarked practically, ‘Well, if we could undo the cars we could see…’

A faint convulsion swept over the stranger’s face. ‘And how do you propose to—er—undo them?’ His voice was too smooth for her liking. She shot him a doubtful glance and then walked past him to have a look. It seemed to her that the Ford had had the worst of the encounter, for its bumpers were dented and twisted and hooked under the Rolls’ bumper. Emma, who knew very little about cars anyway, hoped that its engine was all right. She said now, ‘If we could lift your car off mine…’

The convulsion returned briefly. ‘Have you ever tried to lift a Rolls-Royce, young lady?’ His voice was silky and when she shook her head he went on, still very silky, ‘You really are bird-witted, aren’t you?’

He had come to stand beside her, now he lifted an elegantly shod foot and gently kicked that piece of bumper which the Ford had wrapped round the Rolls. It fell to the road with an apologetic clang and Emma, watching it with her mouth open, didn’t wait for its last rattle before she burst into hot speech.

‘How dare you—how dare you kick my car, just because it’s old!’ She could have been accusing him of kicking an old lady from her throbbing accents; her voice shook with temper; her quite ordinary face seemed to have taken on a more vivid sheen. The man turned to look at her once more, intently this time, as if he were studying something he had previously overlooked.

‘And how dare you drive on the wrong side of the road?’ he queried mildly, ‘an offence which I fear in this country is frowned upon by the law.’

As if some demon god had been listening to his words, a small white car skimmed round the bend of the road, made as if to pass them, and then stopped. It had the word Politie painted on its sides and the familiar blue lamp on its roof, and if that wasn’t enough to convince Emma that Damocles’ sword really had fallen, its doors opened and two large square men in the uniform of the Dutch police stepped out, advanced with the deliberate step of their kind and then stood to look about them. After a minute one of them spoke, and Emma, supposing it to be the equivalent of ‘Well, well, what’s all this?’ said apologetically, ‘I’m so sorry, I can’t understand…!’ and then turned to the stranger. ‘Do you speak the language at all?’ she wanted to know. ‘Perhaps you could make them understand.’

He looked at her without expression. ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ he told her shortly, and then turned to the two policemen and broke into crisp speech, not a word of which did Emma understand. The policemen could though, they listened thoughtfully, inspected his papers and smiled at him as though he were an old friend. They smiled at Emma too and the stranger said, ‘They wish to see your licence.’

She produced it and then, upon request, her passport, and stood patiently while they studied it, but her patience wore a little thin when the man received the passport from the police and instead of handing it back to her, had a good look at it himself, thereby culling the information that she was Emma Hastings, single, Theatre Sister by profession, hazel-eyed and brown-haired, and that she had been born at Mutchley Magna in the County of Dorset on the first of May, 1945. She longed to tell him how grossly impertinent he was, but since he had apparently smoothed things over with the police, she didn’t dare.

He handed it back to her without a word and turned to the police once more, who wrote in their notebooks for a while and then laughing with him in what she considered to be a quite offensive manner, went to ease the Rolls away from her car while the stranger, without so much as a glance in her direction, got into the Ford and reversed it until there was a space between the cars’ bonnets once more. This done, the police saluted her politely, made some cheerful remark to her companion and shot away in their little car. As they disappeared round the bend of the road Emma said accusingly, ‘You’re not English—you’re Dutch! Why didn’t you say so in the first place?’

The green eyes twinkled even though he said gravely enough:

‘I imagine that I wasn’t feeling lighthearted enough. I trust you will forgive me?’

He was laughing at her behind the blandness. She went a fiery red and said stiffly, ‘I’m sorry I was rude. Thank you for—for…’

‘Getting round the law? Think nothing of it, young lady, although I feel sure that you would have managed very well for yourself—our policemen, while by no means lighthearted, are kind.’ His voice was mocking; Emma shot him a look of annoyance which he ignored as he walked over to the Ford and leaned through its open window to speak to her mother. She stood uncertainly watching him and listening to her mother’s pleasant, still youthful voice mingling with his deep one. Presently her mother laughed and called from the car, ‘Emma dear, do come here a minute.’

Emma went, reluctant yet dying of curiosity to know what they were talking about.

‘Just fancy,’ said her mother, ‘this gentleman knows Oudewater very well. I was just telling him that we intend to be weighed on the Witch’s Scales there and perhaps spend the night, and he tells me that there is a very comfortable little hotel there. We might do better than one night and stay a day or two—we could reach Gouda and Schoonhoven very easily from there.’ She glanced at the stranger for collaboration and he smiled with a charm which Emma found strangely disquieting even though the smile was directed at her mother.

‘You like castles?’ he asked. ‘You have of course heard of the performances of Son et Lumière at the castle of Wijk bij Duurstede?’ He spoke to Mrs Hastings and didn’t look at Emma. ‘It is only a few miles along the river from Schoonhoven—you could perhaps visit it; there is a pleasant hotel there too—old-fashioned but comfortable, and the service is most friendly.’

‘It sounds just the sort of thing we’re looking for,’ exclaimed Mrs Hastings, and Emma sighed quietly; there really was no need for her mother to take this man into her confidence as she was obviously going to do. A man who drove a Rolls worth several thousand pounds and wore silk shirts and hand-tailored suits wasn’t likely to be interested in the smaller hotels in out-of-the-way villages; probably he was just being polite. She caught her mother’s eye and frowned slightly, and that lady gave her the innocent round-eyed look she adopted when she didn’t intend to take any notice of her daughter. ‘We’ve three days left,’ explained Mrs Hastings, ‘and not much money.’

‘Mother!’ said Emma in a repressive voice, and avoided the man’s amused eyes.

Her mother looked unworried. ‘Well, dear,’ she said reasonably, ‘anyone looking at our car can see that for themselves, can’t they? Besides, we aren’t likely to meet you again, are we?’ She smiled at the man, who smiled back so nicely that Emma instantly forgave him for looking amused. She loved her mother very much, but now that her father was dead her mother needed someone to protect her from making friends with everyone she met. She went a little nearer the car and said quietly, her voice a little stiff: ‘If you will let me have your name and address—so that I can pay you for the repairs…’

She looked sideways at the Rolls as she spoke and couldn’t see anything wrong with it at all, but that didn’t mean to say that there wasn’t something vital and frightfully expensive that needed doing under its elegant bonnet.

He, it seemed, wasn’t going to give her either his name or his address. He said mildly, ‘I’ll contact you through the AA when the repairs, if they’re needed, are ready—the police have all the particulars.’ And when he saw her worried look, ‘No, they’ll do nothing more. I explained. And now allow me to make sure there is no damage to your car before you resume your journey.’

Emma went with him, to peer at the engine and watch while he pulled at a few wires, which, she had to admit to herself, she hadn’t realized were of any importance at all, and turned a few screws with large hands—well-kept hands, she noticed, with square-tipped fingers. She took a good look at his face too and silently agreed with her mother that he was indeed good-looking in a rugged way. He looked up suddenly, gave her another cool stare and said unsmilingly, ‘Try the lights, will you? and then switch on the engine.’

She did as she was bid and after a minute or so he observed, ‘Everything seems all right—you’ve got a worn plug, though.’

He took out a pocket book as he spoke and scribbled a note and tore out the page and handed it to her. ‘There’s a garage in Oudewater, on the left of the road as you go into the town. Give this to anyone there and they will put it right for you—it’s only a trifle, but it may cause trouble later on.’

‘Thank you,’ said Emma politely, ‘you’ve been very kind.’ She swallowed and went on quickly, ‘I apologize for what I said about the Dutch. I like them very much.’

He smiled at her with such enchantment that her pulse galloped.

‘But you were quite right; we aren’t lighthearted. I hope you enjoy the rest of your holiday.’ He nodded in a friendly way and went back to the car again, put his head through the window and wished her mother a longer and warmer goodbye, then he got back into his own car and sat waiting for Emma to go. She drove away, on the right side of the road this time and without looking at him, although she would have liked to very much. Mrs Hastings, having no mixed-up feelings, stuck her head out of the window and waved.

When they had gone a mile or so along the road Emma stopped the car and in answer to her mother’s inquiring look, said sheepishly, ‘I just want to see what he’s written,’ and opened the note he had given her. It was, of course, in Dutch; even if it had been in English she doubted if she would have understood a word of its scrawled writing; a good thing perhaps, for he had written: ‘Give this car a quick overhaul without the young lady knowing. Charge her for a new plug and I’ll settle with you later.’ It was signed with the initials J.T.

Emma folded the paper carefully and put it back in her purse and her mother said thoughtfully, ‘He was nice, that man. Emma, why don’t we know anyone like him?’

Emma’s pretty eyes twinkled. ‘Dear Mother, because we don’t move in those circles, do we? Not any more.’

‘You liked him?’

Emma chuckled. ‘Mother, we spoke to him for about ten minutes, and you did most of the talking. As far as I was concerned I wasn’t very friendly and nor was he.’

Her mother sighed. ‘No, dear, I noticed. Never mind, perhaps we shall bump into him again.’ She nodded cheerfully, unaware of her unhappy choice of words.

‘Oh dear, I do hope not,’ said Emma, and knew as she said it that there was nothing she would like more than to meet him again. She steered the car carefully to the other side of the road. ‘There’s the garage,’ she remarked, glad to have something else to think about.

The young mechanic she addressed in English grinned and disappeared to reappear a minute later with an older man who said, ‘Good day, miss,’ and when he had read the note she handed to him, looked at her with a smile and asked, ‘You stay at the hotel?’ and when Emma nodded, went on, ‘De Witte Engel—by the canal in the centrum, you cannot miss. The boy will come for the car. OK?’

‘Oh, very OK,’ said Emma with relief. ‘I think I need a new plug.’

The man smiled again. ‘That comes in order, miss. Make no trouble.’ Which she rightly surmised to mean that she wasn’t to worry about it.

Oudewater was rather like going through a door into Grimms’ Fairy Tales; the road was cobbled and narrow and there was, inevitably, a canal splitting it down the middle, reflecting the great variety of gabled roofs of the old houses lining it. Possibly because it was so small, the little town seemed full of people. Emma drove cautiously down one side of the canal, crossed a bridge and went slowly up the other side until she reached the hotel. It was small and dark and cool inside, although through an open door at the back of the hall Emma could see the May sunshine streaming on to a small garden. There was no one to be seen, but there were voices clearly to be heard behind several of the doors leading from the hall. Emma, obedient to a large placard which requested ‘Bellen, SVP’, rang the enormous brass bell standing beneath it, and one of the doors opened and an elderly man, not very tall but immensely thick through, appeared.

‘We should like to stay the night,’ stated Emma, who was ever hopeful that the man might speak English.’ It was a relief when he said at once, ‘Certainly, miss. Yourself and…?’

‘My mother. How much is it for bed and breakfast?’

‘Twelve gulden and fifty cents each, miss. Two rooms, perhaps? We are not yet so busy.’ He turned round with surprising lightness for so large a man and took two large keys, each attached to a chain with a brass ball on its end. ‘You would like to see them?’

The rooms were in the front of the hotel, overlooking the bustling street and its canal, and although they were sparsely furnished they were spotlessly clean with wash-basins squeezed into their corners.

‘Plumbing?’ inquired Mrs Hastings, who liked her warm bath. They followed the landlord down an immensely long passage which ended in a door which he flung open with a flourish to reveal a narrow tiled room with what appeared to be a wooden garden seat up against one wall and a bath shaped like a comfortable armchair. ‘Very nice,’ said Emma before her mother could comment on the garden seat. ‘We may stay two nights.’

The landlord nodded and led the way downstairs again and while they filled in their cards at the desk, fetched their bags and took them upstairs. When he came down Emma inquired hopefully:

‘I suppose we couldn’t have tea?’

‘Certainly, miss.’ He waved a hand like a ham in the direction of the coffee room. ‘And perhaps an evening meal?’

Which seemed a splendid idea; the ladies agreed without hesitation and opened the coffee room door.

It was dark, just like the hall, but in an old and comfortable way, with windows overlooking the street and a great many little tables dotted around. There were large upholstered chairs too and a billiard table in the middle which sustained a neatly laid out collection of papers.

Over tea and little wafer-thin biscuits, they discussed their day.

‘A very satisfactory one,’ murmured Mrs Hastings. ‘How many miles have we done, darling?’

Emma said promptly, ‘Only about ninety, but we did Utrecht very thoroughly, didn’t we, and Leiden. I liked Leiden and all those dear little villages between.’

Her mother agreed a little absentmindedly; she was thinking about something else. ‘Do you suppose that car was badly damaged, Emma? I wasn’t very near, but I couldn’t see a mark on it.’

‘Nor could I,’ Emma frowned thoughtfully, ‘and I don’t quite understand why he said we should hear through the AA. That time I bumped into those cows—you remember?—it was the insurance firm, and I’m sure you’re supposed to exchange names and addresses.’

Mrs Hastings said brightly, ‘Well, he knows ours; I saw him looking at the luggage labels. I suppose he’ll send the bill to you.’ She added not quite so brightly, ‘Shall we be able to pay it?’

‘Of course,’ said Emma sturdily, stifling doubts, ‘it won’t come for ages, they never do, and it won’t be much. Don’t you worry about it.’ She frowned again. ‘But we didn’t see him drive away, did we? Supposing he couldn’t. Perhaps he’s still there…’

‘Nonsense,’ said Mrs Hastings. ‘Now you’re worrying; that sort of car never breaks down. Let’s go for a walk.’

They explored the town first, and then, because it was such a pleasant evening, strolled along a country road which seemed to lead nowhere. ‘A pity we have to go back,’ remarked Mrs Hastings. ‘It’s been such a lovely holiday, Emma dear, and so sweet of you to let me tag along with you. You might have had more fun with someone of your own age.’

‘Fiddlesticks,’ said Emma vigorously. ‘I’ve loved every minute of it, too—I’m glad we chose Holland, and if I’d gone with someone else they might have wanted to do things I didn’t want to do. We’ve seen a lot—besides, we like poking around, don’t we?’

Her mother agreed. ‘Shall we go to Gouda tomorrow?’

‘Yes, and the day after, Schoonhoven and then we can go to that place Wijk something or other. There’s enough money for us to see the Son et Lumière at the castle. We can go south from there in time to catch the night boat from Zeebrugge.’

‘Ten days go so quickly,’ remarked her mother on a sigh, ‘but with Kitty coming home—and it wouldn’t be kind to leave her alone. It’s a pity Gregory and Susan couldn’t have her, but with a new baby in the house…’

‘Well, I couldn’t have had a longer holiday, anyway. Sister Cox is having her feet done as soon as I get back.’

‘Poor thing,’ said her mother, and meant it; she had only met Sister Cox at Hospital fêtes, on which annual occasions the Theatre Superintendent showed only the better side of her nature. ‘Let’s go back, I’m hungry.’

They dined at one of the tables in the coffee room with a sprinkling of other guests who were, however, not dining but drinking beer or coffee and when the mood took them, playing billiards as well. They greeted the two ladies with friendliness and then, with perfect manners ignored them while they ate. The food was good although limited in choice and Emma, who had no weight problems, enjoyed everything she was offered and then sat back watching the players while she and her mother drank their coffee. Perhaps it was because of her obvious interest in the game that she was asked, in peculiar but understandable English, if she played herself, and when she admitted that she did and was asked if she would care for a game she took it as something of a compliment, for in none of the other hotels they had visited had she ever seen a woman playing. She took a cue and gave such a good account of herself that there was a little round of applause when the game was finally finished, even though she hadn’t won. Thinking about it in her little bedroom later she wondered if, despite the language difficulty, she should have told them that she had played with her father for years before he died, and was considered something of an expert even though she wasn’t wildly enthusiastic about the game. She went on to wonder, for no reason at all, if the man they had met that afternoon played too; if so, she would dearly love to beat him. She smiled at the silliness of the thought as she went to sleep.

They went to Gouda the next day and spent a long time looking at the Town Hall, which was quaint and very old and being in the middle of the square, could be seen properly by just walking slowly round it. They went to Sint Janskerk too, because the guide book told them to and were very glad that they had because of its quiet spaciousness and lovely stained glass windows. When they came out at last, they wandered off into the little lanes and alleys around it and stared at the small ancient houses, huddled together as though to support each other through the centuries, and when they found their way back to the Markt, they lunched off a tremendous pancake in a restaurant which looked like a Dutch interior painted by Pieter de Hoogh. They spent an hour exploring the rest of the little town and looking at its shops and then got into the car again and drove the mile or so to the complex of lakes just outside the town, where they stopped at a café for cups of milkless tea which they drank sitting at a little table overlooking the water and admired the boats bowling along before the stiff breeze they had come to expect in Holland.

‘The car’s running well,’ remarked Mrs Hastings as they started back. ‘I had no idea that one new plug could make so much difference.’

‘Yes, I’m surprised—it’s almost as though she’s been over-hauled—it’s surprising what a new plug will do. They only charged five gulden too. I must get the bumper fixed when we get home.’ Which remark led her to think of the stranger again.

The next day they travelled the few miles to Schoonhoven, along a charming country road with little traffic upon it and a warm sun shining down on the flat green land around them, and spent the whole day wandering in and around that little town. A great deal of their time was taken up with a visit to the Edelambachthuis on its main canal, watching the silversmiths for which the place was famous and so enchanted with their work that they spent more than they could really afford on some silver teaspoons because Mrs Hastings declared them to be exactly right for the Dresden tea-set she still cherished. They parked the car in the town and lunched at the hotel on the edge of the river and then crossed by the nearby ferry to walk along the dyke on its other bank until they remembered that they still had to be weighed on the Witch’s Scales in Oudewater. They went back the way they had come, with the little river running beside the road the whole way and the car windows open to the afternoon heat of the sun. When they got back they had tea at the hotel, examining their diplomas guaranteeing them immunity from a witch’s fiery end and then making their plans for the following day—their last day.

They left Oudewater the next day with regret. The regret on Mrs Hastings’ part was for the comforts of the little hotel and the cheerful bustle of the little town; Emma’s was for quite another reason. The further they travelled from Oudewater the less likely it was that she would ever see the owner of the Rolls-Royce again.

They went slowly, admiring the trim little villas as they went; there were bigger houses too, not so easily seen from the road, but a mile or so from the town Emma slowed the Ford to a sedate pace so that they could stare their fill at a tall red brick house with a handsome double stair leading up to its massive front door and rows of enormous windows. It stood in full view of the road, but well back from it, and the big iron gates which led to it stood open.

‘My dear, the curtains—it would take miles and miles,’ said Mrs Hastings, and then, ‘I’d love to see inside.’

Emma nodded. The house attracted her in some way, it looked a little austere from the outside perhaps, but inside she imagined that it might be very beautiful. She said thoughtfully, ‘I daresay some of the curtains are the original ones put up when the house was built.’

Her gaze shifted to the garden, very formal and full of colour, and she couldn’t help but contrast it with the small cottage in which her mother lived, with its pocket handkerchief of a lawn at its front and the small stretch of garden behind, probably her mother was thinking the same thing. She patted her parent’s hands lying on her lap and said comfortingly, ‘Never mind, darling, the garden at home is very pretty.’ And they smiled at each other, remembering the lovely garden they had had in the old house, before her father died. Emma missed it still; it would be even worse for her mother. She took a final look and put her foot, in its neat sandal, down on the accelerator.

They dawdled along the dyke road bordering the Lek and stopped for a picnic lunch by the water, watching the barges chugging their way up and down its broad water as they ate, and presently, when they resumed their journey, they caught their first glimpse of the castle as they approached Wijk bij Duurstede, its round red brick towers standing out amongst the trees, but the miniature town itself they didn’t see at all until they turned off the road on to a narrow street which brought them to a cobbled square, shaded by enormous trees and lined with tall old houses and a handful of shops. The hotel faced the square; an old building with a balcony on either side of its door and called, rather inappropriately, thought Emma, ‘de Keizer’s Kroon,’ for its homely appearance hardly justified its royal title. But even if the hotel wasn’t royal, their welcome was. They went inside, straight into a vast room with a bar at one end, a billiard table in the middle and a number of tables around its walls; most of these were covered with the little woollen rugs Emma rather liked, but half a dozen tables were laid for dinner with starched white cloths and highly polished silver and glass. Standing proudly amid them was the landlord, a large, genial man who listened carefully to Emma’s request for rooms and led them through a double door into a narrow passage with an equally narrow staircase. ‘Two rooms?’ asked Emma hopefully as they started to climb, then came to an abrupt halt as he shook his head and broke into regretful Dutch, holding up one finger to clinch his argument, and then beckoned them on.

The room was at the back of the hotel, with two enormous windows, a very high ceiling and large enough to house the vast furniture in it twice over. Emma stared fascinated at the bed with its carved headboard putting her in mind of the Coronation chair in Westminster Abbey, greatly enlarged, but this awe-inspiring piece of furniture was offset by a small but modern washbasin and everything in the room shone with soap and polish, besides which the landlord, rather in the manner of a conjuror producing a rabbit from a hat, flung open a door at the end of a little passage to disclose a very large bathroom containing a very small bath. They agreed most happily to take the room and presently, when they had tidied themselves, went downstairs, where over a cup of tea they made the landlord understand that they wanted tickets for the Son et Lumière performance that evening. It was disappointing when he shook his head and after some thought, said, ‘Many people.’

‘We’ll go and see anyway,’ said Emma. ‘Perhaps there’ll be a couple of cancelled seats.’

The castle wasn’t hard to find, for the town was so very small and its roads few. There was a gate leading to the grounds around the castle with a hut beside it and a man sitting inside, and when Emma asked about tickets she was delighted to hear the beautifully pedantic English with which he answered her. She exclaimed warmly, ‘Oh, how well you speak, and how nice for us,’ and he smiled and replied, ‘I’m the schoolmaster here,’ as though that explained everything.

Emma said a little anxiously, ‘They said at the hotel that there weren’t any seats left for tonight. We’re going back to England tomorrow and we were told by—someone that we really should see it.’

He stared at her as she spoke; now he asked slowly, ‘Someone you met?’ and when she nodded, went on, ‘It just so happens that I have two returned tickets. How lucky you are, ladies.’

The price seemed very modest, but perhaps it wasn’t a very lavish affair. Emma paid up cheerfully and after a few minutes’ talk she and her mother walked through the gateway; it seemed a good idea to see the castle now that they were so close to it. It was an impressive sight, even though partly ruined, and the trees and shrubs around it added to its impressiveness. They looked their fill, and very pleased with themselves, went back to the hotel for dinner.

There were quite a number of people dining and even more drinking coffee. They sat in the window eating a simple well-cooked meal and, because it was their last night in Holland, drinking a glass of wine with it. The performance was to start at nine o’clock, but long before then the little town came alive with cars and bus loads of people, and by the time Emma and her mother arrived at the gate to the grounds, there was a throng of people. It took them a little while to find their seats, but Emma, who had a persevering nature, showed their tickets to a successive number of people until they at length arrived at them. They were good seats; the man at the gate hadn’t exaggerated when he had told them that they were in an excellent position. They sat down and Emma looked around at the sea of strange faces. Not all strange though, for coming towards them with an unhurried stride was the man in the Rolls-Royce.

Emma’s first reaction was one of pure pleasure, the second, satisfaction that she had put on the coral pink silk shirtwaister, an ordinary enough garment, but the colour suited her, but it could have been mud-coloured sacking for all the good it did her. His glance was as brief as his polite greeting before he addressed himself to her mother. It was then that Emma saw that he wasn’t alone.

A majestic middle-aged lady, beautifully coiffured and gowned, accompanied him, so did a tall willowy girl with glowing golden air and an outfit which Emma would have sacrificed her eye-teeth to possess. He introduced them with a cool charm as ‘My aunt, Mevrouw Teylingen, and Saskia,’ which did nothing to clear up the question as to who he was himself. The majestic lady smiled nicely, shook hands and sat down between Emma and her mother. Her nephew took a seat beside Mrs Hastings, and Saskia, after more handshaking, sat beside him. ‘And that,’ thought Emma, sadly put out, ‘is that.’

It was her mother who asked, ‘May we know your name? You haven’t told us, you know,’ she smiled. ‘I don’t know what Emma calls you, but I think of you as the man with red hair, and that really won’t do.’

He laughed. ‘I must apologize. Teylingen, Justin Teylingen.’ His voice sounded friendly enough, but Emma, from where she sat, got the impression that he had been reluctant to tell them and she couldn’t begin to guess why. After all, they were leaving Holland in the morning, and they didn’t even know where he lived. She wondered if her mother, who had no inhibitions about asking questions, would ask him that too and watched her framing the words on her lips, but Mijnheer Teylingen must have been watching too, because before her mother could get the question out he asked her a question of his own which presently led the conversation right away from the subject, and even if Mrs Hastings had been clever enough to slip her inquiry in again, there was no chance now, for the performance had begun.

It was fascinating; Emma sat entranced even though she couldn’t understand the words, but the programme had an explanation in English anyway, and to watch and listen was enough—besides, from time to time the aunt whispered an explanation or two which Mrs Hastings passed on to Emma in a rather scamped fashion, but Emma hardly listened. She was back in the past, her pleasant face enrapt.

It was over too soon. She sat back, aware of the bustle of people around her preparing to go home.

‘You enjoyed it?” Mijnheer Teylingen slid into the seat just vacated beside her, and Emma nodded. ‘Lovely—just lovely,’ she said inadequately, and since he was so close and it was really the first—and last?—opportunity of studying him, took a good look; older than she had supposed, even in the lamplight she could see that he was nearer forty than thirty, despite the hair and the alert green eyes, pale in the uncertain moonlight, and his nose was just as she had remembered it—perhaps not quite so formidable as Wellington’s but certainly a very good copy of it. His mouth was a little too stern perhaps…

‘I hope I come up to expectations,’ said Mijnheer Teylingen gently, and when she jumped visibly, ‘That’s what you were doing, was it not? Assessing my points?’ He smiled with real amusement. ‘Let me help you. I’m forty, more or less, my teeth and my hair are my own, my nose is an unfortunate family appanage; I am ill-tempered at times, fond of children and animals, like pretty girls and am used to having my own way.’

Emma blushed and was glad that the light was poor enough for it to go unnoticed. She began. ‘I—I—that is, I didn’t mean…’ She came to a halt, flustered.

‘Don’t apologize. Tell me, do you go home with your mother or return to your hospital?’

She wondered how it was that he was familiar with her profession and then remembered that he had looked at her passport. Feeling she owed him something, she replied, ‘I shall take my mother home first and then go back to Southampton, where I work.’

‘You enjoy your work?’

She supposed that he was making conversation. ‘Very much,’ she said, and wished she could have thought of something interesting to say; normally she was by no means so tongue-tied; she felt like a young girl, uncertain and shy, and wondered why he should have such an effect on her. Fortunately there was no need to strain her conversational powers any more, for his aunt joined them, to embark on a short conversation upon the evening’s performance before wishing Emma goodbye. Saskia wished her goodbye too, casually but staring at her thoughtfully as she did so.

Mijnheer Teylingen made his farewells with a charm rather spoilt by its brevity, and marshalling his two companions before him, disappeared in the opposite direction to the one in which Emma and her mother were to go, without so much as a backward glance.

Emma, with her arm tucked into her mother’s, walked back to the hotel listening to her parent’s remarks about the evening and adding very little of her own. Nor did she have much to say later as they prepared for bed in the large old-fashioned bedroom, although it seemed to her that Mrs Hastings dwelt with unnecessary length on Mijnheer Teylingen. The fact that she herself had almost nothing to say on the subject did nothing to alter the fact that long after her mother was asleep, her thoughts were still busy with him.

They left the next morning and began their journey home, making a leisurely trip southwards to Zeebrugge, and then because Emma lost the way, having to race the last few miles, to join the end of the car queue with only minutes to spare. They slept on board in a cabin to themselves because Emma wanted to push on to Dorset the moment they landed and there was no hope of getting any rest on the boat otherwise; it was crowded with young and boisterous students and a large party of elderly people who sang ‘Knees up, Mother Brown’, with a good deal of vigour and without showing any signs of settling down for the night.

They were last off the boat, of course, but still succeeded in getting away before a good many other cars owing, declared Mrs Hastings virtuously, to their honest faces. ‘The Customs men could always tell,’ she added smugly as they started on the long trip home.

CHAPTER TWO

EMMA was in the theatre getting ready for the morning’s list, while Sister Cox, the Theatre Superintendent, stood in the middle of the large tiled apartment, watching her. Emma had been back two days and despite the fact that her nice little face still bore the light tan she had acquired on her creamy skin and the dusting of freckles she despised upon her ordinary nose, her holiday in Holland already seemed like a pleasant dream. She had had a day at home getting her mother settled in once more, organizing her own clothes, fetching Flossie the spaniel from the kennels and getting Kitty’s room ready for her return from medical school before getting the little car out once more and driving herself back to Southampton to plunge immediately into the strict routine of theatre work. And for once she had welcomed it, for what was to have been a perfectly ordinary holiday had been in fact turned into a dream—by Mijnheer Teylingen, who, to her great annoyance, she was having the greatest difficulty in dismissing from her thoughts. Which she had told herself repeatedly and soberly was ridiculous; she was no callow schoolgirl to lose her heart to the first handsome man she met, despite her lack of looks. She was neither dull nor dowdy and possessed a charm which did more for her than all the good looks in the world; she had never lacked for boyfriends even though their attitude towards her had been of a brotherly nature, and she had twice refused offers of marriage, so it wasn’t a question of being swept off her feet. It was just, she admitted to herself, that he had seemed different.

She sighed as she laid up her trolleys, and Sister Cox, watching her, sighed too, but for a different reason. She was a cosy-looking woman, with black eyes which appeared to have no expression in them, but her disposition was by no means cosy. The regular theatre staff did their work and kept out of her way; the student nurses, sent to do their three months’ stint in theatre, trembled and shook for the whole of that period, counting the days until they could get away from her despotic rule. Emma, however, despite her quiet manner, had a disposition every bit as tough as Sister Cox. She had worked with her for two years now and was completely unworried by that lady, bearing with equanimity her bad temper without apparent ill-effects and taking care not to pass any of it on to the junior nurses. It was possibly because of this that the Theatre Superintendent occasionally showed her human side, something she was doing now. ‘Two months,’ she was saying in a voice which boded ill for someone, as Emma, having arranged her trolleys to an exact nicety, proceeded to lay them up with the instruments in the wire baskets brought from the autoclave. ‘He’ll eat you alive in a week.’

‘More fool he,’ said Emma with calm, and laid two rib raspatories neatly side by side, ‘for then he’ll have no one in theatre at all, will he? Don’t worry, Sister, I’ll not be gobbled up by some bad-tempered surgeon—though only rumour says he’s bad-tempered, doesn’t it? Anyway, the longer you leave your toes, the worse they’re going to get.’

Sister Cox looked down at her feet in their hideously wide shoes needed to accommodate her hammer toes. ‘You’re right,’ she said, her voice sounding cross as well as resigned. ‘I’ll take the first case, you take the second; Staff can lay up for the third while we’re having coffee, and for heaven’s sake keep that great fool Jessop from under my feet. What possessed Matron to send her here…’ She started for the theatre doors, still talking to herself, and Emma, standing back to survey the first of her completed trolleys with all the satisfaction of a hostess decking her dinner table, asked idly, ‘What’s this horror’s name, anyway—the one who’s going to eat me?’

Sister Cox rotated her chubby form slowly to face Emma. ‘He’s a foreigner—brilliant at chest surgery, so I’m told, but I’ll have to see it first.’ She snorted disdainfully. ‘He’s got some technique or other—name’s Teylingen.’ She turned back to the door, saying as she went, ‘Red hair, so I hear, so you’d better look out, you know what they say about red hair and bad temper.’

Emma stood quite still, looking astonished. It couldn’t be the same man; on the other hand, why shouldn’t it be? And if it was, what would he say when he saw her again? She shook out the sterile towel for her second trolley and holding it by its corners with the Cheatles forceps flipped it open with the ease of long practice, allowing it to fall precisely on the trolley before beginning the task of arranging yet another set of instruments upon it. This done to her satisfaction, she covered her handiwork with another sterile cloth, took one all-seeing look around the theatre and left it, casting off her gown as she went along to the tiny kitchen. Here the rest of the staff were gathered, drinking as much coffee as they had time for and wolfing down biscuits with an air of not knowing where their next meal would come from. They got to their feet as Emma went in and she said at once, ‘No, don’t get up—you’ll need your feet this morning. Staff, will you scrub in time to lay up for the third case?—It’s the oesophagectomy—I’ll be taking it.’

Staff Nurse Collins, a small dark girl with large brown eyes in a pretty face, said simply, ‘Thank God for that, Sister. Mad Minnie seems determined to hate this professor type before he’s even got his nose round the door. She’s as cross as two sticks already, she’ll be really ratty by the time the morning’s half over.’

‘Sister Cox is preoccupied with her feet,’ said Emma quietly, not wanting to snub Staff, whom she liked, but mindful that she really mustn’t allow the nurses to call the Theatre Superintendent Mad Minnie—not in her hearing at any rate. She turned her attention to the other two nurses. ‘Jessop, count swabs for the first case, please’—that would keep the poor girl out of Sister Cox’s way—’ and, Cully, you see to lotions and take the bits when they’re ready.’ She turned back to Jessop, a large girl, naturally clumsy and rendered more so by Mad Minnie’s vendetta against her, but who, in Emma’s opinion, had the makings of a good nurse if only she could stop herself from dropping things and falling over anything within a mile of her awkward feet. Emma smiled at her now and said encouragingly, ‘The third case will be a long one, Nurse Jessop. I shall want you to keep me supplied, and be ready to fetch anything I may need. You’d better count swabs for the second case too, and be very careful, won’t you, because I often get the total wrong.’

Which was a great piece of nonsense but served to inflate Jessop’s sadly flattened ego. She left them with a little nod and another smile and went unhurriedly down the passage to the office where she and Sister Cox wrestled with the off-duty, the stores, the supplies of theatre equipment and the laundry and from where the Theatre Superintendent blasted, by telephone, the various ward sisters who hadn’t conformed to her wishes concerning the arrival and departure of the various cases which had been sent up for operation. Occasionally one of the sisters, fuming over some new rule Mad Minnie had imposed would come tearing in, to spend a tempestuous ten minutes in the office before Emma, if she was on duty, calmed the two ladies down with tea.

The office was small; it was also crowded. Sister Cox was sitting at the desk, looking more orbicular than ever, and most of the remaining space was taken up by the four men with her. Mr Soames, the senior consultant surgeon of the unit, was leaning against the desk, apparently unaware of Sister Cox’s cross looks at the pile of papers he had disarranged in doing so. With him were his senior Registrar, William Lunn, six foot two inches tall and naturally enough known throughout the hospital as Little Willy, and the senior anaesthetist, Mr Cyril Bone, middle-aged, a natty dresser and known to chat up the nurses whenever he had the opportunity to do so—he was also very good at his job and popular with everyone, even Sister Cox, whom he could butter up in the most extravagant fashion. The fourth man was the owner of the Rolls-Royce, who dominated the scene by reason of his height and size and autocratic nose, not to mention the brilliance of his hair and the elegance of his dress and this despite the fact that he managed to convey the impression that he was of a retiring disposition. Emma, standing just inside the door, was aware of all this without having actually looked at him, she was also aware of an alarming pulse rate. It was Mr Soames, who liked her, who saved her from making any possible foolish and impulsive remark by saying at once, ‘Ah, Emma, meet Professor Teylingen from Utrecht. He’s here for a couple of months to show us some new techniques which I think we shall all find interesting.’

Emma advanced two cautious steps and held out her small capable hand. ‘How do you do?’ she asked politely, and added ‘Professor,’ hastily.

He took her hand briefly. ‘How delightful to meet you again, Sister,’ he remarked in such a mild voice that she gave him a faintly startled look, to find the green eyes staring into hers with a most decided twinkle. ‘I have been looking forward to this,’ he went on, ‘ever since we met in Holland,’ and explained to the room at large, ‘You see, we are already acquainted,’ which remark was met with a chorus of ‘Oh, really?’ and ‘How extraordinary!’ a chorus to which Emma didn’t add her voice, being far too occupied in restoring her calm. It was only when she realized that five pairs of eyes were watching her that she managed weakly:

‘Yes, it’s a small world, isn’t it?’ and followed this profound remark with a more businesslike one to the effect that the theatre was ready.

Professor Teylingen said at once, ‘Splendid. I look forward to a most interesting morning.’ He smiled at Sister Cox as he spoke and to Emma’s surprise that formidable lady smiled back and got out of her chair with a show of willingness quite unusual to her. Probably the old battleaxe was holding her fire until they got into the theatre, where the professor would only have to ask for something she either hadn’t got or didn’t want, for her to flatten him. Emma took the opportunity to look at him as he stood talking to Little Willy—no, he wouldn’t be easily flattened; it would remain to be seen who would come off best. She slid away from the office, put on her theatre cap and mask and went to send the nurses into theatre. She found them bunched together in the anaesthetic room and said urgently, ‘For heaven’s sake—he’s about to scrub up!’

‘Not before he’s met the rest of the theatre staff,’ interposed the professor’s voice from the door, and she wheeled round to encounter a smile which threw her quite off balance.

‘Oh well—yes,’ she began inadequately, and then becoming very professional indeed, ‘Professor Teylingen, may I introduce Staff Nurse Collins, Nurse Jessop and Nurse Cully—we have a nursing auxiliary too, but she’s not on duty until this afternoon, and two technicians and the porters.’

He said with a little smile. ‘Yes, I met them yesterday evening when I came round with Mr Soames. I feel sure we shall enjoy working together.’

The smile became brilliant as he went away, closing the door quietly behind him.

Jessop spoke first. ‘Golly, Sister, he’s smashing—he doesn’t look bad-tempered either—they said he was.’ Her tone of voice suggested that if anyone thought otherwise they would have to settle with her first. And Cully, who was a little older and a little wiser, observed, ‘He’s quite old, isn’t he, but it doesn’t notice—it makes the medicos look like schoolboys.’ And Staff, who was engaged to be married and should have known better, asked, ‘Is he married?’

‘I’ve no idea,’ said Emma calmly, ‘and since he’s only here for a couple of months and doesn’t live in England, there isn’t much point in getting turned on, is there?’ She added in a quietly severe voice, ‘Now into theatre all of you, please—Sister will want us all to give a good impression.’ She paused as she went. ‘And Nurse Jessop, do try not to drop anything.’

The first case was a lengthy one and Mr Soames did it with the professor assisting and Little Willy making himself useful. It was the repair of a hiatus hernia which involved a partial gastrectomy and some excision of the oesophagus. Mr Soames was good at it; he did a great many week after week, and being familiar with his work was completely relaxed—as was the professor. The two of them talked as they worked, frequently including Little Willy and Mr Bone in their conversation, and even Sister Cox, who didn’t agree with talking in theatre unless it was strictly business, so that her answers were short and a little snappy.

‘You don’t like conversation in theatre, Sister?’ asked the professor at his mildest. She shot him a darkling glance over her mask.

‘No, sir, I can’t say I do,’ she said huffily. ‘We’re here to work.’

She snapped her Cheatles angrily above her head and Emma, interpreting their clatter, nodded to Cully standing ready with her receiver to take what Mr Soames held dangling from his forceps. He flung it lightly, forceps and all, in her general direction and she caught it with a dexterity which would have done justice to a first-class cricketer in a Test Match, and disappeared in the direction of the sluice, acknowledging Mr Bone’s thumbs-up sign with a soundless giggle. The professor, without looking up from the little bit of sewing he was engaged upon, remarked:

‘I must compliment you upon your dexterous staff, Sister Cox,’ and when she gave an impatient grunt, went on, ‘I hope I shall not put you out too much while I am here. I find I work much better if there is a certain amount of talk. It is relaxing, you know—so vital to our work, do you not agree?’

Emma could see by the look on Mad Minnie’s face that she had no wish to agree but felt it expedient to do so. After all, the wretched man was important, though why they had to bring foreigners into the country to teach them something they could do better she did not know. Emma read her superior’s mind like an open book and suppressed a smile as Sister Cox’s eyes widened as the professor went on, ‘I daresay you find it most vexing to have to put up with a foreigner for even a short time. I’m sorry to hear about your—er—feet. I take it the operation is to be quite soon?’

She looked as though she would explode. ‘In two days’ time,’ she handed him a grooved director which he accepted politely and didn’t use. ‘You’ll have to manage with Sister Hastings—by the time I’m back you’ll be gone.’ Her tone implied ‘and a good riddance too’.

‘Regrettably,’ said Professor Teylingen gently, ‘but I am sure your operation will improve you in every way, Sister Cox.’

Mr Soames made a muffled sound behind his mask and Mr Bone and Little Willy dealt with sudden coughs and the nurses, who had the rest of the day with Sister Cox to face, saved their giggles until they could get down to the dining-room, where they would recount the conversation word for word, together with a thorough description of the handsome Mr Teylingen.

The professor accepted another needle and gut into his needleholder and began to stitch with the finicky concentration of a lady of leisure working at her petit point, while Emma nodded to Staff to go and start scrubbing, ready to retire to one corner of the theatre and lay up for the next case. The professor, she noted, was a meticulous worker but a fast one, something which he chose to disguise under a deliberate manner which could be deceiving. He had also, to confound rumour, remained perfectly good-tempered throughout the lengthy operation, though there had been nothing to arouse his ire—no dropped dressings, no lotion splashed on the floor by Jessop’s too quick hand; nothing in fact to spoil the calm of the theatre’s atmosphere, only Mad Minnie’s tartness, of course. Emma had got so used to her that she had rather overlooked the fact that a stranger coming into their circle for the first time might find her a shade dictatorial. She picked up the dressing lying ready under the trolley and arranged it correctly around and over the drains and tubes which the two surgeons had stitched into the patient with all the care of a dressmaker stitching in a zip, aware as she did so of the close proximity of the professor to her.

They had coffee at the end of the case while the nurses bustled around theatre, readying it for the next case, and Staff, sterile in gown and gloves, waited patiently by her trolleys. The office, thought Emma, was hardly the place for the social drinking of coffee by five people. She perched uneasily on the second chair while Sister Cox sat behind the desk, looking murderous, and the men lounged against the walls, drinking coffee far too hot and eating biscuits with all the enthusiasm of schoolboys while they discussed the case they had just finished. That the talk was highly inappropriate to the drinking of coffee, or for that matter, the drinking or eating of anything, didn’t worry Emma in the least; for several years now she had reconciled herself to taking her refreshment to the accompaniment of vivid descriptions of any number of unmentionable subjects. Now she listened with interest while the professor explained why he had found his method of performing the next operation so satisfactory—something which he did with a nice lack of boasting. She went away when she had finished her coffee and started to scrub up and was almost ready when the three men sauntered in to join her at the sinks.

‘Taking the case?’ inquired the professor idly, and when she had said that yes, she was, she added, ‘Are there any particular instruments you prefer to use, sir, or any you dislike?’

He gave her a thoughtful look. ‘Very considerate of you, Sister Hastings. I like a blade and a blade holder—always. I like Macdonald’s dissector, I take a size nine glove if you have them and I prefer Hibutane solution. There is no need to bother about these today, though I should be grateful if the gloves could be changed.’

Emma said, ‘Yes, sir,’ and went into theatre. She sent Staff for the correct size and stood quietly while Cully tied her into her gown and then opened the glove drum so that she could take her own size sixes. The operation would be a long one—the removal of an oesophagus in a patient with cancer; the man was still young enough to make the operation worthwhile, severe though it was, and as it had been diagnosed in good time, there was every chance of success. She went without haste to her trolleys and began the business of counting swabs and sponges, threading needles and checking the instruments before making sure that all the complicated machinery needed was in position and that the technicians were ready. Sister Cox wasn’t in theatre; she had gone to see the orthopaedic surgeon about her feet, so that the atmosphere of the theatre was a good deal lighter than it had been, although there was no let-up in the strict routine. Emma reflected that it was nice to see Cully and Jessop so relaxed, and Jessop, by some miracle, hadn’t dropped anything at all.

The patient was wheeled in with Mr Bone at his head and propelling his anaesthetic trolley with him. He winked at Emma as the porters arranged the patient on the table and she returned the wink, for they had been friends for several years and indeed she was one of the few who knew that his wife had been in a nursing home for years and was very unlikely to come out of it—a wife whom he dearly loved. The three surgeons walked in and behind them, Peter Moore, the houseman, who was coming to watch. Peter was young and awkward, very clever and just about as clumsy as Nurse Jessop. Emma heaved a sigh as she saw him, for if Jessop didn’t do something awful, he certainly would.

She handed the sterile towels and watched while the surgeons arranged them with meticulous care and then fastened them with the towel clips she had ready. The professor asked placidly, ‘Is everything fixed, Sister?’—a question she knew covered not only the actual operation itself but the patient’s immediate aftercare as well. She said briefly, ‘Yes, sir,’ and proffered a knife.

He took it without haste. ‘Good—I take it we’re all ready,’ and made a neat incision.

The operation seemed to be going very well. The professor dissected and snipped and probed and cut again and after a long time he and Mr Soames started to stitch the end results together. They were perhaps half-way through this delicate, very fast process when Jessop, about to change the lotion in the bowl stand beside the professor, made one of her clumsy movements and lurched against him, pouring a jugful of warm saline over his legs, and for good measure, touching him with her hand. Emma prayed a wordless little prayer as she said calmly:

‘Another gown for the professor, Staff. Nurse Cully, fetch another set of bowls. Mr Moore, be good enough to stay by me in case I should need anything.’ She handed a tetra cloth to Mr Soames, and the professor, after one short, explosive sentence in his own language, stood back from the table so that Staff could take his unsterile gown. He nodded to Mr Soames before he went to scrub again and Mr Soames said, ‘Right, old chap, Will and I will carry on, shall we?’

No one else had said anything—what was there to say at such a time? Poor Jessop, quite overcome, had fled out of the theatre, and Emma had let her go, for she would be worse than useless now, and a good wholesome cry in the kitchen would restore her nerve more quickly than anything else.

Professor Teylingen came back presently and Staff with him to relieve an uneasy Mr Moore, and the operation was finished without further mishap with the men talking among themselves in a deliberate, calm manner which Emma felt sure that in the professor’s case was assumed, for she could sense his rage, well battened down under his bland exterior, and felt sure that once he had finished his work he would make no bones about unleashing it.

He did, but not immediately. The patient had gone back to the IC Unit, the theatre had been cleared and got ready for the next, luckily short case and Emma was scrubbing up once more before he appeared beside her. He wasted no time on preliminaries, but, ‘Sister, you will be good enough to see that Nurse Jessop remains out of the theatre while I am in it. I will not have my patients’ lives jeopardized by a nurse who cannot do her work properly.’ He picked up a nailbrush and gave her a cold look. ‘Perhaps I should speak to Sister Cox.’

‘Don’t you dare!’ said Emma before she could stop herself, and then remembering who he was added, ‘Sir,’ and saw his lips twitch faintly.

‘No one—I repeat, no one, Sister Hastings—tells me what I may dare to do or not to do.’

Now she had made him even more angry. Poor Jessop! ‘Listen,’ she said earnestly, quite forgetting to say sir this time, ‘don’t tell Mad M…Sister Cox. You see she’s…she didn’t want Nurse Jessop here in the first place and so she thinks she’s no good, and Jessop’s scared stiff of her. I know she’s clumsy and slow, but if she’s given a chance she’ll be a good nurse one day. Give her that chance, I’ll keep her on swab counting if you like…but if only someone would tell her she’s not a fool.’ She sighed. ‘People are so stupid,’ said Emma indignantly, and glared at him over her mask.

‘And I am included amongst these—er—stupid people?’ He sounded interested.

Her ‘Yes’ was a mumble. She had got herself into a fine mess. Probably he would request Mad Minnie to keep her out of the theatre too and that would leave only Staff to scrub…and serve him right. She began to scrub the other hand with her usual thoroughness and had the brush taken from her as he twisted her round to face him.

‘I don’t seem to be starting off on the right foot, do I?’ he asked mildly. ‘I don’t make a habit of making girls cry, you know—but the patient comes first, don’t you agree? Would it help if we were to go and find this nurse and endeavour to calm her down? You say she is going to be a good nurse—who am I to dispute your opinion?’

They found Jessop in the kitchen, squeezed behind the door with reddened eyes and a deplorable sniff. Emma said at once, ‘Ah, there you are, Jessop. I shall need you in theatre in a minute or two, so stop crying like a good girl. No one’s angry—here’s Professor Teylingen to tell you so. Now I’m going to scrub and when professor goes to scrub too go into theatre and make sure everything’s ready, will you?’

She walked away, leaving him to deal with the situation, and presently when she went into theatre, evinced no curiosity as to what he had said to Jessop, who was standing, gowned and masked, waiting for her. The operation was to be a comparatively simple one. The patient had suffered a stab wound some weeks previously, had recovered from it, and now was back in hospital with an empyema. Now he was going to have an inch or so of rib removed and a drainage tube inserted—a fairly quick operation which Jessop should manage to get through without doing anything too awful. Emma counted her swabs, signed to Jessop to tie the surgeon’s gowns, checked the contents of the Mayo’s table and handed the first of the sterile towels to Little Willy.

A quarter of an hour later she was clearing up her instruments once more and Jessop was carefully unscrewing the sucker jar. The men, with a brief word, had gone, Staff and Cully would be back in twenty minutes or so and Mrs Tate, the auxiliary, would be on duty in a couple of minutes. Emma put the last of the instruments into one of the lotion bowls and said, ‘All right, Nurse, you’re off at one, aren’t you? Mrs Tate can finish that,’ and bent to do her sharps as Jessop said: ‘Thank you, Sister,’ and ploughed her way to the door, narrowly avoiding two electric cables and a bucket, and then turned round and ploughed all the way back again. ‘He’s lovely, Sister,’ she breathed. ‘He told me that when he was a medical student he forgot he was scrubbed up and turned on the diathermy machine and everyone had to wait while he took off his gown and his gloves and scrubbed up again and on his way back he touched the surgeon’s gown. He says he’s never forgotten it, and he said,’ she went on rapidly, ‘that you have to do something awful like that just once and then you never do it again, so I’m not to worry.’

She looked rather imploringly at Emma. ‘He is right, isn’t he, Sister?’

‘Yes,’ said Emma firmly, ‘he’s quite right, and he’s been very kind too—you realize that, don’t you? You could have done a lot of damage to the patient. Supposing Professor Teylingen had jerked his hand—he was stitching, remember?’

Jessop looked crestfallen. ‘Yes, I know, Sister. I—I thought I had—that’s why I ran away. I’m sorry I did. He said I must never run away again because we’re a team and we can’t manage without each other. I thought…that is, Sister Cox said I was a nuisance…’

Emma started on the needles. ‘No, you’re not—you’ll do quite well, especially if you remember that bit about one of a team. And remember too that Sister Cox has had a lot of pain with her feet and she’s been in theatre so long, she’s forgotten just a little how difficult it is at first.’ She smiled. ‘Now go off duty, Nurse.’

Jessop went to the door again. At it she said, ‘Goodbye, Sister—you’re nice.’

And let’s hope I stay that way, thought Emma, and don’t get like Mad Minnie. The prospect was daunting; she closed her mind to it and began to think about Little Willy’s invitation to go with him to see the latest film that evening. They had been out together on several occasions, but although she liked him, that was as far as it went and she suspected that it was as far as it went with him too. She supposed she would go, and along with the thought came a speculative one as to what the professor intended to do with his evening, and where he was living, and with whom.

In the Sisters’ dining-room, where she went a short time later, she was greeted with expectant faces and a great many questions.

‘You lucky devil,’ remarked one of her closer friends, Madge Freeman from Men’s Surgical. ‘I saw him in the distance this morning—that hair—and his smile!’ She groaned in a theatrical manner. ‘A trendy dresser too. What’s he like, Emma?’

Emma looked resignedly at the cold meat on her plate and helped herself to two lettuce leaves and a radish. ‘Very neat worker,’ she stated. ‘He’s here to demonstrate his theory about…’ She was stopped by a concerted howl from her companions.

‘Cut it out, Emma,’ one of them begged. ‘Who cares about his theories? Is he married—engaged? What’s his voice like? Does he speak with an accent? Is he…?’

Emma peered at the potatoes; being late, there wasn’t much choice. ‘Cold,’ she pronounced, ‘and hard,’ and seeing the astonishment on her friends’ faces, hastened to add, ‘The potatoes, and it’s no good asking me. I don’t know a thing about him, I really don’t. He’s got green eyes,’ she offered as an afterthought, ‘and a deep voice.’

‘Dark brown velvet or gravelly?’ someone wanted to know.

‘A bit of both,’ said Emma, having thought about it, ‘and he’s got almost no accent.’

She applied herself to her dinner amid cries of discontent from her table companions. ‘Well, don’t carry on so,’ she advised kindly. ‘He’ll be going to the wards to see his cases, won’t he?’

She looked at Madge, who brightened visibly and asked, ‘What’s he got this afternoon—something for ICU, I suppose.’ She looked round the table. ‘Margaret isn’t here—she’ll get it.’

‘There’s a lobectomy at half past two; he’ll be using his new technique, so there’ll be an audience in the gallery and the patient will go to Margaret—she’s got the others. Why don’t you go up and see her? You might be able to meet him, he’s sure to be in and out of there for the next few hours after theatre’s finished.’

Several pairs of suspicious eyes were turned upon her. ‘You’re very casual, Emma. If I were you I’d keep him to myself,’ remarked Casualty Sister, a striking girl with corn-coloured hair and enormous eyes.

Emma helped herself to treacle tart and gave the speaker a considering look. ‘If I were you, Sybil,’ she said reasonably, ‘I jolly well would.’

The afternoon’s work went perfectly, probably because neither Sister Cox nor Jessop were there. The professor worked smoothly, his quiet voice detailing every stage of the operation he was performing to the audience in the screened-off gallery. When he had finished he thanked Emma nicely and left, closely followed by Little Willy and Peter Moore. Little Willy came back after ten minutes or so and asked Emma if she had made up her mind about going to the cinema. It was, he pointed out, a rather super film and if she could get away in time… And Emma, who, for some reason she didn’t care to name felt restless, agreed to make the effort. Two hours later, as they were leaving the hospital by its main entrance, they passed the professor coming in. His ‘good evening’ was casual, but his green eyes rested thoughtfully for several moments upon Emma.

The next day he wasn’t operating at all; Mr Soames did a short list and then an emergency on a stoved-in chest. The professor, Emma was informed at dinner, had spent most of the morning in ICU getting to know the nurses…a most unfair state of things, someone remarked, for Margaret, who was in charge, was happily married. Madge had had a visit from him too, which had caused her to go all dreamy-eyed and thoughtful.

‘He turns me on,’ she sighed. ‘I know he’s quite old, but he’s got such a way of looking at you.’ She added complacently, ‘I think he likes me. Is he nice to you, Emma?’

‘He’s very pleasant to work for,’ said Emma sedately, ‘but he can be quite stern—Mad Minnie didn’t stand a chance with him; a good thing she’s going off to Sick Bay tomorrow. By the time she gets back he’ll be gone.’

She suffered a pang as she spoke which was almost physical.

Kitty was waiting for her when she came off duty that evening, sitting on the bed reading the latest book on theatre technique which Emma had just bought herself. She got up to embrace her sister, observing:

‘Darling, what a conscientious girl you are—this is only just out.’

Emma cast her cap on to the bed and started to take the pins out of her neat topknot. ‘Yes, I know, but things change all the time. How are you, Kitty?’

She smiled at her sister as she divested herself of her uniform. Kitty was four years younger than she was and by some quirk of nature, although they were alike, Kitty had been cast in a more vivid mould. Her eyes were brown and fringed with extravagantly curling lashes whereas Emma had to be content with hazel eyes and lashes of the same soft brown as her hair so that she had recourse to the aid of mascara when she had the time and patience to use it. Kitty’s hair was a rich glowing brown and her nose was small and straight, while Emma’s tilted at its end. They had the same mouths, though, rather large and turned up at the corners, and they both had the same sweet smile.

‘How did the exams go?’ inquired Emma. Kitty was a second year medical student at one of the London hospitals and doing well.

‘I passed. I telephoned Mother yesterday. She seems to have enjoyed herself in Holland. Who’s this man she babbled on about?’

She went to the mirror and began to re-do her face. ‘She said you had an accident and you’ll have to pay for the repairs—poor you! Look, Emma, I can manage without the money you send me for a month or two, perhaps that would help to pay it off.’

Emma was struggling into her dressing gown and her voice was muffled in its folds. ‘That’s decent of you, Kitty, but I think I’ll be able to manage. I haven’t any idea how much it is—I suppose I shall have to ask him.’

‘How can you do that?’ Kitty wanted to know.

‘Well, it’s quite a coincidence; he’s working here for a couple of months—he’s a cardiac-thoracic man and they invited him over to demonstrate some technique he’s thought up—he’s had a lot of success with it. He’s in our theatre.’

Kitty put away her compact. ‘Well, well, darling, how nice for you—or isn’t it?’

Emma was doing up buttons. ‘I don’t know yet,’ she sounded composed. ‘Wait while I have a bath, will you? I shan’t be two ticks.’

They went out presently and had a meal in the town and then went back to the hospital car park where the Ford Popular stood rather self-consciously among its more modern fellows. ‘For heaven’s sake, go carefully,’ Emma besought her sister. ‘I’ll need it when I go home next week-end. Leave it here on the way back, as usual, will you? I’ll try and pop down for a minute.’

Kitty got in and started the engine and said yes, she’d be very careful and took the little car out of the hospital forecourt with a spurt of speed which caused Emma to close her eyes. Kitty always had the car when she went home unless she herself was using it. One day, Emma promised herself, opening her eyes again to watch her sister go round the corner, she would have a new car—something low and sporting, a Sprite perhaps. She went back into the hospital, passing the consultants’ car park as she went and pausing by the professor’s Rolls to see if she could make out any signs of damage on its polished perfection. She could see nothing at all, but probably Rolls-Royces were inspected for damage with magnifying glasses. She patted its bonnet and then rubbed where she had patted in case she had spoilt the polish. As she turned round she found Professor Teylingen standing behind her watching, so that, taken by surprise, she said weakly, ‘Oh, hullo. I—I was looking to see if anything showed, you know—from the bump I gave you.’ She gave him a direct look and went on in a carefully matter-of-fact voice, ‘I should like to have the bill, so that I know how much…?’ Her voice tailed away under his cool stare.

‘I’ve no idea at the moment, Miss Hastings, I imagine it will reach you in due course.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘Who was the pretty girl who drove away in your car?’

And where was he hiding to see us? thought Emma crossly. ‘My sister,’ she told him shortly.

‘Oh? Also a nurse?’

‘No—she’s a medical student. She’s very clever as well as being pretty.’

‘And she borrows your car?’

‘Well, of course,’ explained Emma patiently. ‘She comes down from London and drives home from here, then brings the car back on her way to catch the train.’

It sounded a little complicated, but all he said was simply, ‘Why?’

She wasn’t going to tell him it was cheaper that way, so she said, faintly irritated at his persistence, ‘It’s easier that way,’ and glared at him in case he should dispute the explanation. ‘Besides,’ she said with finality, ‘it means she’s free to go where she likes or take Mother out.’

‘And so you walk until the car is returned?’

‘I have good legs,’ observed Emma rashly, and went pink as he said quickly, ‘Yes, you have, quite delightful,’ and when she made a small sound, said in the most casual way imaginable, ‘Don’t let me keep you.’

She wished him good night rather stiffly and walked through the hospital and out of a small door at its back, crossed the inner courtyard to the Nurses’ Home, where she joined her fellows round the TV and drank tea she didn’t want, and tried not to think about Professor Teylingen.

They met a good deal during the following days, but always in a professional capacity. If they had exchanged half a dozen words of ordinary conversation during that time, it would have been a generous estimate. Margaret and Madge had fared better—he had lingered for tea with each of them when he had visited his patients during the afternoons and they had gleaned, between them, quite an amount of information about him, none of which, however, cast any light upon his private life. Nor did he show any sign of dating Madge or Sybil, who had contrived to meet him too. Consultant staff weren’t in the habit of asking members of the nursing staff to go out with them, but it didn’t seem quite the same with the professor; he was a foreigner for a start, which for some reason made a difference, and as far as they knew, he was unmarried—but there again, they weren’t sure. It was annoying; it also gave them an unending topic of conversation.

It was a couple of days later that Emma, not on duty until one o’clock, decided to go out and buy herself a dress. She had no money to speak of and the need for a new dress wasn’t actually pressing—it was merely that she wanted to cheer herself up. She had tried telling herself that there was no reason why Professor Teylingen should take an interest in her; she was perfectly aware that she was neither particularly exciting as a companion or even passably good-looking, which was probably why she was on such excellent terms with most of the men she worked with, all of whom were prone, if they talked to her or took her out, to spend a great deal of time telling her about their girl-friends. Even the occasional outings she had with Little Willy were like going out with a brother and just about as exciting, and she had never forgotten that on one occasion when she had listened sympathetically to some minor upheaval in his day, he had told her that although she was a homely little body, she was one of the nicest girls he knew. He had said it so nicely that she hadn’t had the heart to be annoyed. She had taken a good look at herself in the mirror when she got back to her room and been forced to admit to herself that he was probably right about her being homely—a detestable word, she raged, tearing her clothes off and bouncing into bed—just because she hadn’t got great blue eyes and masses of curly hair; but her rage hadn’t lasted long, for Little Willy so obviously liked her.

She walked across the hospital forecourt now, trying to decide what colour she should have and how much she could afford to spend, and half-way over the Rolls overtook her and slowed to a halt.

‘May I give you a lift?’ Professor Teylingen’s voice was casually friendly and when she said, ‘No, thank you,’ surprised her by asking her why not.

‘Well, you don’t know where I’m going,’ she stated, rather at a loss.

He opened the car door. ‘Naturally not. You can tell me as we go.’ His voice sounded patient, but Emma still hesitated. ‘The thing is,’ she said at length, ‘I’m not sure where I’m going myself—it’s shopping.’

He nodded in an understanding way. ‘Ah, no, of course not—how could you? Suppose I take you into town and you can tell me where to drop you.’ He added suavely, ‘Unless you dislike my company?’

Emma’s usually serene face became animated with surprise so that she looked suddenly pretty. ‘Dislike you?’ she repeated parrot fashion. ‘Why should I dislike you? Of course I don’t.’

‘Then get in.’

It seemed foolish to waste any more time; she got in and he leaned across her and shut the door, and without bothering to say any more, guided the car sleekly through the gates and on to the main road. They were well into the city before he spoke again.

‘Could you spare time for a cup of coffee? I’m going to the Dolphin, I can leave the car there.’

It seemed churlish to refuse—besides, suddenly the new dress didn’t seem important any more. Emma thanked him nicely as he turned the car into the arched entrance to the hotel and allowed herself to be led into one of the large bow-windowed rooms facing the street. Afterwards, thinking about it, she was unable to remember what they had talked about while they drank their coffee, only that the professor had maintained a steady flow of easy talk which required very little answering. When she at length rose with a garbled little speech in which thanks were rather wildly mixed with a quite unnecessary description of the shops she intended to visit, she was interrupted by his quiet, ‘I shall be in town myself until midday. I’ll wait for you here.’

‘Oh, will you?’ asked Emma, astonished. ‘But I can go back by bus—they run every ten minutes.’

‘I daresay they do,’ observed the professor, not very much interested in the local transport service. ‘I shall wait for you here.’

She arrived back at five minutes past the hour, without the dress because she had been unable to put her mind to the task of searching for it with the proper amount of concentration such a purchase deserved.

‘I’m late,’ she began, breathless, to which the professor replied with calm, ‘For a woman who has been shopping, I imagine you are remarkably punctual. Where do you lunch?’

She hadn’t given lunch a thought—she would make a cup of tea in the Home and there were biscuits in a tin somewhere or other. She didn’t answer as he wove the car like a gleaming black silken thread through the fustian of delivery vans and long-distance transports.

‘No lunch?’ he queried. ‘We must arrange things better next time.’ He glanced at her sideways and she caught the gleam in his green eyes. ‘And where’s the shopping?’

‘I wanted a dress,’ said Emma, ‘but I didn’t see one I liked.’

‘Hard to please?’ He sounded mocking.

She heard the mockery and was stung into replying, ‘Of course I’m not. I saw plenty I should have liked…’

‘You have just said you hadn’t seen one you liked,’ he reminded her silkily.

‘Well,’ explained Emma patiently, ‘it’s no good liking something you can’t afford, is it?’ and added hastily in case he should pity her, which was the last thing she wanted, ‘I don’t really need a dress, anyway.’

He laughed at that, but it was kindly laughter and presently she laughed with him. It was as they were turning into the hospital forecourt that he asked, ‘When does your sister return your car?’

‘Saturday morning, so that I can go home for the week-end. It’s a bit of a scramble really, for she has to get the midday train up to London.’

‘What does she do? Leave the car at the station?’

‘No, she brings it here and parks it and leaves the key at the lodge unless I can manage to slip down.’

‘Box and Cox, I see.’ He opened the door for her to get out and smiled and she smiled too. ‘Yes, it is rather, but it works quite well. Thank you for the lift.’

It wasn’t until she was scrubbing up for the first case that afternoon that she began to wonder why he had asked all those questions about Kitty. Perhaps he wanted to meet her—he had had a glimpse of her when she had fetched the car. A sharp pain pierced her at the thought so that she stopped scrubbing for a moment to wonder at it. The pain was replaced by a dull ache which, when she thought about the professor, became worse. It was still there ten minutes later when, already in the theatre laying up the Mayo’s table, she watched him stroll in with Little Willy, gowned and gloved and masked. There was nothing of him to be seen excepting his green eyes and the high arch of his preposterous nose, but that didn’t matter. She realized all of a sudden that she knew every line of his face by heart, just as she knew every calm, controlled movement of his hands when he operated or drove the car or picked up a cup of coffee; she knew every inflection of his voice as well. She clashed two pairs of tissue forceps together as the realization that she had fallen in love with him hit her like a blast from a bomb. Such a foolish thing to do, she chided herself silently as she laid the necrosis forceps down with precise care, especially as she still owed him for the repair of his car—it didn’t seem right to fall in love with someone to whom she owed money. He wished her good afternoon with pleasant friendliness and she replied in like vein, glad of her mask to cover the flush which crept up her cheeks. They plunged into their work after that and there was no more time for thoughts other than those to do with the job on hand. And when the afternoon was over, he went away with a careless good-bye, scarcely looking at her.

CHAPTER THREE

THERE was no theatre on Saturday morning; at about half past eleven Emma slipped down to the car park to see if Kitty had got back with the Ford. She had; she was standing by the little car with Professor Teylingen on one side of her and Little Willy on the other and they were laughing together like old friends, but the moment Kitty saw her she started to meet her, her pretty face alight with pleasure.

‘Emma darling, how lovely! I hoped you’d escape for a minute or two. I was just standing here doing nothing when these two—’ she turned a smiling face to the men, ‘came along and they knew who I was at once because we’re so alike. Have you been busy? Mother’s looking forward to seeing you.’

They had joined the two men as she was speaking and Emma said in her pleasant voice, ‘Hullo, Willy,’ and then, ‘Hullo, sir.’ She gave him a friendly glance as she spoke and tried not to notice how hard her heart was beating.

‘Gosh,’ said Kitty, ‘do you call him sir? He said his name was Justin.’ She turned to look at the professor, standing with his hands in his pockets, a half smile on his face. ‘Do you mind?’ she asked. ‘Of course you’re someone important, aren’t you?’

‘None of us is important on our own, I imagine,’ he observed mildly, ‘and I very much prefer to be called Justin.’ His green eyes flickered across to Emma, who went a little pink because they held laughter in their depths and she suspected that he was amused because she was always so careful to call him sir with the formality due to him. She said hastily, ’Kitty, shouldn’t you be going? I hate to hurry you, but if you miss the bus you’ll miss the train too.’

‘No, she won’t,’ the professor’s answer was prompt, ‘I’ll run her down.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Only it had better be now.’

Kitty flashed him a dazzling smile. ‘Oh, good—I did hope you’d think of that. Good-bye, Will—I hope we meet again. Emma, you’ve a long weekend in a fortnight, haven’t you? I’ll come down and meet you here and we can go home together.’

She embraced her sister with loving speed. ‘The keys,’ she added breathlessly, and thrust them at Emma, ‘and thank you for the car, Emma.’

Emma stood beside Little Willy watching her sister skip along beside the more dignified professor to where the Rolls was parked, then waved as they got in and drove away. When she looked sideways at Little Willy she was surprised to see a look on his face which she had never seen before—excitement, disappointment and determination all mixed up together.

He turned to face her. ‘I didn’t know,’ he began, ‘your sister—what a lovely girl she is. I’ve never met anyone like her, only you.’

Emma understood him very well. ‘We’re not really alike,’ she said kindly, ‘only the shape of our faces and our mouths. I’m—I’m a kind of dim copy of Kitty, aren’t I? She is lovely, and she’s very clever too.’

They started to walk slowly back into the hospital while she told him just how clever Kitty was, because it was obvious to her understanding eye that he wanted most desperately to know.

But he wasn’t the only one who was interested. On Monday morning as she was wrestling with the off-duty in the office while Staff got the theatre ready, Professor Teylingen strolled in, bade her a good morning, made a few brief remarks about the day’s work ahead of them, and then without further beating around the bush, began to talk about Kitty. It was apparent, after a few minutes, that Kitty had talked to him like an old friend, and Emma, sitting quietly in her chair listening to him, wondered uneasily just what she had said, for Kitty, although a darling, was a chatterbox. But presently Emma relaxed a little; it seemed that her sister, while disclosing their ages, dislikes and various childish episodes, had remained reticent about their finances. Emma, for some reason which she didn’t care to define, didn’t want this man who had come so suddenly into her life to know how they had to count every penny and what an effort it was for her mother to live on her tiny income even with Emma’s help—and least of all did she want him to know how much both her mother and sister depended on her earnings.

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