Emma (3 page)

‘Poor lad,’ I said, feeling sorry for her brother. ‘I had measles when I was eleven; it was horrible.’

‘Well, Ma says I’ve had it, and she put Freddie in with me so that he took it, too, but our Terry wasn’t born then. Still, he’s had most things now. It was the mumps before Christmas, proper poorly he was with that, and the chicken pox last summer.’

‘Bless him,’ I said and added an extra half-ounce of sweets for the same price. ‘You look nice, Sheila. Off out somewhere?’

‘My boyfriend is taking me to the dance at the Women’s Institute,’ she said, looking happy. ‘They have them most weeks. You should come, Emma. It’s fun.’

I felt a pang of envy as I looked at the pretty dress she was wearing. It had a narrow skirt that flared out in a frill at the hem and the jacket was belted, with wide, padded shoulders. She looked a treat and I thought it would be wonderful to be going somewhere nice dressed up like that.

‘I wish I could!’ I sighed enviously. ‘You’re so lucky, Sheila.’

‘Eric would fix you up with one of his mates,’ Sheila offered, warming to the idea. ‘We could go next week as a foursome if you like?’

‘Emma! Your mother needs you upstairs.’

I jumped as my father spoke. I had not been aware of him standing just behind me, and, glancing round, I saw he was annoyed. He didn’t approve of my gossiping with the canteen girls, but I’d always liked Sheila, who was only a year older than me, but seemed very sophisticated.

‘Thanks, Sheila,’ I said, ignoring my father’s frown of disapproval. ‘I’ll ask Mum if I can come.’

I gave Sheila her change, slipped past my father and up the stairs before the shop emptied, giving Father no chance to lecture me. With any luck, he would have forgotten all about it by the time he closed up for the night.

‘I’d let you go,’ my mother said later that evening when I asked about the dance. ‘You know I would, Emma – but your father would raise the roof. We’d never hear the last of it.’

‘No, I suppose not.’ I sighed as my hopes were dashed. ‘I didn’t really expect you to say yes.’

‘Don’t look so disappointed, love.’ Mother patted my hand to console me. ‘Those dances aren’t up to much, anyway. One day you’ll find a nice young man, and he’ll take you somewhere decent.’

‘Shall I?’ I gazed at her, feeling close to desperation. ‘Will it happen, Mum? Shall I ever be able to go out like other girls?’

‘It will have to be someone your father likes and approves of, you know that – but the time will come, Emma. I promise you.’

I smothered my doubts and kissed her goodnight. I was usually in bed by a quarter to nine, because I had to be up to check the papers by soon after five, and I liked to read in bed. Reading was one of the few pleasures I was allowed, and even that brought a frown of censure from Father if he saw me with what he termed ‘trashy’ library novels.

I sat at my dressing table, brushing my hair and pulling faces in the mirror. If only I were as pretty as Sheila! Then perhaps someone would come along and sweep me off my feet. He would be tall and handsome, and very rich, and naturally he would fall instantly in love with me. We would run away together, to somewhere exciting like America or Paris, and my life would never be lonely or boring again.

Suddenly, I laughed at myself. That was what came of reading too many romance stories. I never met any exciting men – or I hadn’t until this evening.

I got into bed, my book unopened, as I thought about Paul Greenslade. He was just like Clark Gable or Spencer Tracy: handsome, dashing, a gentleman.

My father might not allow me to go to the cinema very much, but I was as star-struck as the rest of my generation. I read all the magazines about the Hollywood film stars and lingered outside the cinema whenever I had the chance, feasting my eyes on the magical posters of the latest films.

I smiled as I recalled the look of disappointment in Paul Greenslade’s eyes when I’d turned him down. It was almost like something out of the movies. Only in a film he wouldn’t give up; he would keep following me until I agreed to go out with him.

The only man I knew who did that was Richard Gillows and I wished he wouldn’t. He was all right in his own way, I supposed, but I didn’t like him much. There was something about the way he looked at me that made me feel uncomfortable.

I opened my book. I was foolish to dream of having a more exciting life. No matter what Gran or my mother said to comfort me, I was certain that nothing was ever going to change.

I went to church that Sunday with Mother as usual. Afterwards, we stood talking to friends for a few minutes before starting to walk home. It was as we stopped to look in a shop window that Richard Gillows crossed the road to speak to us.

‘Evening, Mrs Robinson – Emma,’ he said, raising his trilby hat. ‘Been to church then?’

Dressed in a single-breasted, dark navy pin-striped suit with wide shoulders and a matching waistcoat, he looked much smarter than he usually did when I met him on his way home from work. Almost a gentleman, I thought, even if his suit had come from the thirty-shilling tailor’s.

‘Yes, we usually go on Sunday morning,’ Mother replied. ‘How are you, Richard?’

‘Very well, thank you.’

‘Going somewhere special?’

‘Just out to dinner with a friend.’ Richard hesitated, his dark eyes intent on me. ‘I’ve been asked to a church social at the church hall a week on Wednesday. I wondered if Emma might like to come?’

‘Would you, Emma?’ My mother glanced at me, but I kept quiet and she looked at him again. ‘We should have to ask Mr Robinson. Perhaps Emma could let you know?’

‘It starts at six. I’d have her home by nine.’

‘Well, we’ll see.’ She smiled at him. ‘Come along, Emma. Your father will be waiting for his dinner.’

After walking in silence for a few minutes, Mother turned to me. ‘Would you like to go with him? I’m sure your father would agree if I persuaded him a little. He gets on well with Richard – and a church social isn’t like a public dance.’

As Richard well knew! He’d chosen his target well.

‘I’m not sure.’ I wrinkled my nose. ‘It would be nice to go out, but he might take it as a sign I liked him – that I wanted him to court me.’

‘He isn’t all that bad,’ Mother said. ‘Especially when he’s dressed up. You could do worse, Emma. If you were courting him, your father would have to let you go to the pictures and things.’

‘I don’t know.’ Richard had looked different and I supposed I might get to like him if I let myself. ‘I’d like to think about it for a day or two.’

‘Well, don’t think about it too long,’ she said. ‘I doubt he’ll hang around for ever. If you don’t want him, there’s plenty of girls who will.’

It had just started to rain that afternoon, and foolishly I had come out in only a thin dress and cardigan. I peered anxiously up at the sky, which was overcast but not black. Was it going to be simply a shower or should I go back for my coat and umbrella?

‘Get in before it really starts. I’ll give you a lift wherever you’re going.’

The man’s voice startled me, making me swing round sharply. I’d been vaguely aware of the car pulling into the kerb behind me, but hadn’t taken much notice. I didn’t know anyone who owned a car, though several of Father’s business friends had vans for delivering goods.

No one around here had a car like this one! It was too luxurious, too expensive. Staring at the driver fixedly for a moment, I was surprised to discover I recognized him.

‘Mr Greenslade …’

‘You remembered. I’m flattered.’ He leaned across to open the passenger-side door. ‘Come on, Miss Robinson. I’m not dangerous. I won’t ravish you against your will. Tell me where you want to go and I’ll deliver you safely – scout’s honour!’

His teasing made me laugh. I’d never met anyone like this before. I glanced over my shoulder, wondering if anyone was watching, noting the fact that Emma Robinson was talking to a stranger, then felt a surge of rebellion. Who cared? I had a perfect excuse for getting into the car, because the rain was getting worse. Besides, he wasn’t a complete stranger. I had sort of met him before. He had been into the shop to buy cigarettes at least three times now, and on two of those occasions my father had served him personally. He hadn’t asked me out or even seemed to notice me particularly after the first time, which was probably just as well.

‘Thank you,’ I said, making up my mind and sliding into the car beside him. The seats were covered in leather and smelled nice. ‘This is a Bentley, isn’t it? I’ve never seen one close to before.’

‘It belongs to my father,’ he said, glancing my way as he pulled away from the kerb. ‘I couldn’t afford this on my salary. I shall have to wait until the old boy snuffs it and leaves me this one.’

I was a little shocked by his casual reference to his father’s death, but didn’t let it show. The rich were different. I’d heard my father say it often enough, and was sure he was right. They had different moral values, different standards to ordinary folk.

‘It’s lovely,’ I said, to cover a slight awkwardness. ‘If you meant it about giving me a lift, I’m going to my grandmother’s. She lives in a cottage by the line. Mother Jacobs they call her – but you wouldn’t know that, not being local.’

‘As a matter of fact I have heard of her. I’m working for the railway myself at the moment. I’m an architect. I design things – bridges, tunnels, boring things like that.’

‘That’s why you’re here several times a week, then?’ I looked at him curiously. ‘At least, you’ve been into the shop a few times this past week.’

‘You noticed? Yes, I’ve been having preliminary meetings, discussions with civil engineers. They’re talking about a new bridge on the Peterborough line, but at the rate we’re going it will never get built.’

A roll of thunder sounded overhead and the sky opened, sending down the rain in torrents.

‘It was just as well I happened along,’ he said. ‘You would have been soaked to the skin in this.’

‘Yes, I’m very grateful. But you’re right about that bridge,’ I said, feeling confident because this was something I knew about. ‘Gran says it has always been like that – arguments, disagreements. When they were first building the railway they couldn’t agree on who should build and own various bits of the line. It was almost abandoned at one stage. Gran says it was a wonder they ever sorted it out.’

He shot an amused look at me, then indicated to turn right. ‘You’re fond of your grandmother, aren’t you?’

‘Yes. She’s special. I visit her every Wednesday and most Sundays. I like talking to Gran. She knows everything.’

‘Does she indeed?’

The look in his eyes made me blush. I suspected he was laughing at me. Of course, he must think I was very unsophisticated, just a common shop-girl, not educated or glamorous like the girls he was used to meeting in his world.

‘Well, not everything. No one could, of course – but she knows a great deal about the railways. Her husband worked for them all his life. And she knows a lot of other things – about plants and herbs.’

‘She’s a wise woman.’ Paul Greenslade nodded. ‘She sounds interesting. I should like to meet her.’

‘Would you really?’ I stared at him a little suspiciously. ‘You’re not saying it just to please me?’

‘No, I mean it. I’ve been told she’s quite a character.’

I frowned, not sure I liked the way he’d said that – as if Gran were an oddity. I didn’t mind him laughing at me, but I wouldn’t let anyone make fun of Gran.

‘I’ll have to ask her,’ I said. ‘She won’t have you in her house unless she likes the look of you.’

The rain had eased slightly by the time we reached the isolated cottage. I hesitated, then turned to look at Paul, my hand on the car door handle.

‘Do you want to come in if she says yes?’

He glanced at his wristwatch, which was gold-cased and obviously expensive. ‘Perhaps not now. I have an appointment. What time will you be leaving here?’

‘About four – why?’

‘Why don’t I pick you up? It looks as if it may rain all afternoon. I could take you home.’

‘Wouldn’t that be a lot of trouble?’ I was doubtful, unsure whether to take up the offer or not. Why should he go to so much bother for my sake? ‘It would be out of your way.’

‘I’ll be here at four,’ he said, giving me a smile that made my stomach lurch. ‘Have a nice visit, Emma.’

‘Thank you.’

I stood watching as he drove away, then turned and walked up the garden path to Gran’s front door. The brass knocker was polished so bright you could almost see your face in it and the step had been scrubbed fresh that morning.

Gran must have been watching from her window, because she opened the door as I approached, eyes lively with curiosity.

‘Who was that, then?’ she asked. ‘Not local. I don’t suppose he’d be that architect from Cambridge? They tell me he drives a fancy car sometimes.’

‘Oh, Gran,’ I cried and hugged her. That afternoon she smelled of lavender and herbs, as if she had been making up some of her cures and poultices. ‘You do know everything! Who told you about Paul Greenslade?’

‘Paul, is it?’ Her eyes were bright and curious, studying me from beneath her sparse lashes. ‘That sounds as if you know him. How did you meet him – and what are you doing accepting a ride in his car?’

‘It was raining and he offered me a lift,’ I explained and Gran nodded, looking thoughtful. ‘He wants to meet you. He’s coming to fetch me later.’

‘Bring him in,’ she said. ‘I’d best have a look at him. If he’s interested in my girl, I want to see what sort of a man he is.’

‘Oh, Gran,’ I cried, laughing. ‘I’m sure he isn’t. He was just being kind because it was raining.’

‘And why did he ask you out then? Was that just kindness?’

‘Oh, that …’ I felt my cheeks getting warm as her eyes seemed to probe my mind. ‘I expect it was an impulse. He was new here and didn’t know anyone. I suppose he thought I looked harmless.’

‘Thought you were available more like,’ Gran said with a snort. ‘His sort and yours don’t often mix, Emma. I’m not saying it never happens, so don’t pull a face. If this Mr Greenslade is a decent man, there’s no harm in your seeing him, but you shouldn’t expect too much.’