Two Penn'orth of Sky (42 page)

The picture thus conjured up was so unpleasant that Emmy hastily banished it from her mind, telling herself severely that Mr Mac was far too nice to make such a dreadful mistake. No, his wife would be plump and cuddly, with a gentle expression and a sweet smile. She would potter about the restaurant being everyone’s best friend and would never interfere, in any way, with the running of her husband’s business.

This picture of the new Mrs Mac, however, did not seem convincing. The boss did not pick plain, plump little waitresses, so why should he go for a plain, plump little wife? Tossing and turning in her small bed, Emmy eventually decided that it was no use getting in a state over Mr Mac’s intended. She would just have to trust to her boss’s good sense to
see that everything at the restaurant went on as before, even after his marriage. And anyway, if it didn’t, and she was unhappy, there was always Johnny Frost, or Carl Johansson. They were there, standing in the wings, both equally anxious to rush to her rescue, scoop her out of the restaurant, and give her a comfortable, worry-free life.

In the other bed Diana, crammed in beside Becky, sighed and stirred, and poor Emmy realised that the light which came in round the sides of the curtain was growing stronger. The moon had risen, and if it lit up the bedroom too brightly, she might lie here awake till morning. Having decided, miserably, that sleep would never visit her, she promptly fell into a deep and dream-filled slumber in which Johnny Frost and Carl Johansson vied for her hand, bought her beautiful gifts, and took her to exotic places. Unfortunately, the three of them were always together, the two men glaring at one another whilst she tried, in vain, to keep them apart. And there was a third figure, hovering in the background, always seen through mist so that she could not recognise his features. At one point, Carl asked, jealously, who the fellow was and Emmy glanced round wildly, hating to admit that she did not know. Then the words came tripping out of her mouth without any hesitation. ‘Why, it’s Mr Right, of course,’ she said happily. ‘It’s my Mr Right; he’s come at last!’

Carl had been holding her left hand and Johnny her right, but now she broke free from both of them and ran towards the mist-enshrouded figure. If only she could see him clearly . . . she knew that he really was her Mr Right, that she had found him at last, and if only she could see his face—

But hands were pulling and tugging at her as
Johnny and Carl shouted that she was making a horrible mistake, that she was going to marry them – both of them. ‘We’ll be really happy, the three of us,’ Carl said positively. ‘Emmy, be ours!’

Emmy tried to fight them off, tried to reach out to Mr Right . . . and woke. Diana was shaking her shoulder impatiently and peering into her face. She was washed, dressed, and standing with her hairbrush in her hand, looking down at Emmy with both anxiety and irritation. ‘What time did you get in last night, Mam?’ she asked, rather crossly. ‘It’s half past eight an’ if you don’t plait me hair for me, I’ll have to go down with it loose. Oh,
do
come on, or I’ll be late for school. Aunty Beryl’s got the porridge on the table . . . do wake up!’

Still befuddled by the depth of her sleep, Emmy lurched out of bed, plaited Diana’s hair, and told her daughter to tell Aunty Beryl she would be down in five minutes. Diana clattered out of the room and down the stairs, and Emmy began to think about her dream and how extraordinary it had been. She tried and tried to remember the identity of Mr Right, but could not recall one detail. Finally, with a mental shrug, she put the whole, ridiculous episode out of her mind, and went down to breakfast.

She and Beryl were in the kitchen when Carl arrived at about ten o’clock. They welcomed him warmly and then Beryl left the couple to themselves, saying that she had not yet done her messages and leaving the kitchen with her largest marketing bag and a list, she told them, as long as her arm.

As soon as they were alone, Emmy apologised for her absence the previous day, explaining that her boss was getting married and had asked her to look at some houses for him. She did not do it on purpose,
but soon realised she had given Carl the impression that she had visited the houses by herself. Still, something prevented her from admitting that she had done so in the company of Mr Mac. Carl said ruefully that, had he been able to do so, he would have greatly enjoyed accompanying her. ‘For when we are married we shall want a neat place of our own,’ he said expansively. ‘It would be an excellent scheme to examine a number of houses so that we could see whether our tastes are similar. But I’m sure that anything you like, I shall like also,’ he finished, giving her a beaming smile.

‘Oh, Carl, it’s not me that’s getting married, it’s Mr Mac,’ Emmy reminded him. ‘I don’t think I’m ready for marriage yet . . . and then there’s Diana . . . she was very fond of her daddy and can’t imagine his place being filled by anyone else. But I tell you what. Mr Mac asked me to pop in to some estate agents on my way to work today. Suppose you and I go out now and visit Humphreys & Lloyd Jones and Robert Roberts in Netherfield Road and then we could make our way towards the dock, if you have to hurry back to your ship; that would be killing two birds with one stone, wouldn’t it?’

Carl did not look over-enthusiastic but agreed that they might as well do as she suggested since he would have to be back aboard SS
Cleopatra
by half past eleven at the latest. ‘As for your so charming daughter, I should not be marrying her but yourself,’ he said, rather plaintively. ‘I’m afraid Diana is a little possessive of her mother and will not like any man who looks at you twice. However, I do have a suggestion which I hope may please you. I am taking three weeks off in the summer, and would like you both to accompany me to my home in Sweden for a short
holiday. You could meet my parents, and my married sister and brother-in-law. As I must have told you before, my father is a farmer and I’m sure Diana would greatly enjoy a spell in the country. My sister has three girls aged eleven, nine and four; they would be delightful companions for Diana.’

Emmy was so taken aback that she could only stare. Carl had mentioned his family, vaguely, but there had never been any suggestion of a visit and this was the first she had heard of a farm. She supposed that his reticence had been caused by the fact that she had made it clear she would not move away from Liverpool. But now she found the thought of a trip abroad both exciting and stimulating. It would be marvellous to see Sweden, to meet Carl’s relatives, and to learn how life was lived on his parents’ farm. But even so, she was aware of doubts. If she agreed to go with him, then she could scarcely expect to remain a widow; he would take their eventual marriage for granted. But surely it would be no worse than visiting Llandudno, which she had been doing for months?

Emmy hesitated, trying to think of a way to find out whether such a visit would commit her in some way. She began to reply, rather falteringly, that it was most kind of him to suggest it, when he broke in. ‘There would be no – how do you call it – strings attached,’ he said eagerly. ‘After all, my darling Emmy, you told me yourself that you have visited the Frosts in Llandudno many times since leaving the sanatorium. You have said those visits meant nothing, save that you and the Frosts had been friendly for many years. I, alas, cannot claim an old friendship between us, but our friendship, surely, is of sufficiently long standing for such a visit?’

Emmy stared at him thoughtfully for a few moments, then went across to the kitchen door and took her hat and coat from the peg. She perched the hat on her smooth pale-gold hair and spoke to Carl over her shoulder as he began to help her into her coat. ‘Yes, I have been visiting the Frosts, so I suppose I could visit you without – without risking a lot of talk. And I should enjoy such a trip very much, since I have never been abroad. Diana would, too, I’m sure. Only – well, you do know I could never live in your country, even if we did get married? I don’t speak the language and besides, I don’t want to leave Liverpool. All my friends are here, and Diana’s too.’

‘I understand, and I would not suggest such a thing,’ Carl said, but Emmy thought she detected a touch of impatience in his tone. ‘May I take it, then, that you will accompany me when I go back to Sweden?’

They had let themselves out of the kitchen and were crossing the court, Emmy with her hand tucked into Carl’s elbow, but at these words she stopped short, feeling that committing herself at this stage might be a big mistake. ‘No you can’t,’ she said baldly. ‘Summer is months away. Anything might happen in that time. Now let’s change the subject.’

Carl began to say that summer was not that far distant, although if she preferred it he could take time off over Christmas, but Emmy resolutely changed the subject. Very soon, they entered the first estate agent’s premises, whence they presently emerged with details of two houses, both of which sounded promising, on paper at least.

‘If only I had a little more time ashore, I would love to accompany you to examine these places,’ Carl
said, rather wistfully. ‘But, my dearest Emmy, if you see a house that you really like, will you write to me, giving me all the details? After all, if we mean to marry, then we should—’

‘You are beginning to bore me, Carl,’ Emmy said crisply, hearing the edge in her voice with some satisfaction. ‘Why can’t you simply accept that it is too soon for me to think of marriage? You said if I accompanied you home, it would be without strings, without any commitment in fact, yet you are making me feel guilty because I won’t say yes or no right this moment.’

‘Good. That is how I wish you to feel,’ Carl said, surprising a choke of laughter out of Emmy. ‘Do you realise, my love, that I have been taking you about now for the best part of six years, but we have never spent more than a couple of days together? However, if you come home with me and we spend three weeks in each other’s company, you will soon discover that I am a grand chap, willing to dance to your tune and to satisfy your slightest whim.’

He said it so comically that Emmy was forced to stifle another laugh. Very soon, they were saying goodbye at the dock gates and she was promising to write, though not necessarily about houses.

She stood and waved until Carl had mounted the gangway and disappeared into the depths of the ship, and then she turned and began to make her way towards the restaurant, feeling rather guiltily lighthearted now that she had waved Carl off, knowing that she would not be seeing him again for three weeks. I shouldn’t really be feeling like this, she told herself, as she walked briskly along the pavement. Carl is very nice but I truly don’t think I ought to marry anyone who makes me feel so impatient and
cross. Though, of course, if I did marry him, he wouldn’t have to nag me so.

On this thought, she entered the restaurant and was once again surprised by the rush of pleasure which came over her at the sight of the familiar room, with Mr Mac giving her a quick little smile – he was on the cash desk – and both customers and staff greeting her warmly as she went into the staff room to hang up her coat and hat. Working on the cash desk, she no longer needed cap or apron, but had merely to wear a neat black dress, with lawn collar and cuffs. Mr Mac had formed the habit of buying a fresh pink rosebud for the cashier to wear during her shift and now Emmy took it from the little vase next to the mirror and pinned it to the front of her dress. She checked her hair, her stocking seams, and her general appearance, then picked up the house details she had acquired earlier and headed for the cash desk.

Mr Mac greeted her warmly and took the papers from her, standing up as he did so, and stepping away from the desk area. ‘You are a good girl, Mrs Wesley,’ he said approvingly, flicking through the papers in his hand. ‘I am most grateful . . . perhaps you and I could repeat yesterday’s expedition on your next day off? Some at least of these houses will be worth viewing, I’m sure.’

Emmy returned his smile, realising as she did so that her expedition with Mr Mac had been one of the nicest days out she had enjoyed for years. They got on so well, had so much in common, seemed to know what the other was thinking without having to put it into words . . .

She was beginning to say that she would be delighted to view more houses with him when a
revelation occurred. The Mr Right of her dream suddenly appeared in her mind’s eye, but this time there was no shrouding mist, and the face which smiled into her own was that of Mr Mac!

For some while after he had left her, Emmy could think of nothing but Mr Mac. She was in a daze of happiness for, in the end, the whole thing had been so simple. She had realised, at the moment of revelation, that she did not care a fig for either Johnny or Carl, but instead cared, passionately, for her employer. He might be forty-two, and she remembered she had once thought him old, but now his age simply did not matter. Mr Mac was not as handsome as either Carl or Johnny, not as tall, not as obviously desirable, yet she knew now that she loved him with all her heart. She had tried and tried to love Johnny or Carl, and a very poor job she had made of it, because love can’t be forced, nor does it come for the asking. When it does come, it is completely natural, completely understandable, and that was how she felt about Mr Mac.

The sudden recollection as she gave a customer his change and watched him slip twopence into the staff gratuities box was like a douche of cold water. She might be free, but Mr Mac was most certainly not. He had told her he was hoping to get married in the near future, and again two pictures of his possible mate – one plain and plump, one beautiful but hard – popped into Emmy’s mind, only on this occasion both faces were seen through a red mist. They shan’t have him, Emmy thought vengefully. They’re not right for him – neither of them is – they know nothing about the business, so they’ll just get in the way when they come into the restaurant, and
I don’t believe they know him half as well as I do. Why, he’s the kindest and best man that ever lived . . . look how wonderful he was, visiting me almost every week whilst I was in the sanatorium, and even bringing Diana with him sometimes. Oh, how I wish I’d had the sense then to try and make him love me.