Two Penn'orth of Sky (45 page)

Having examined everything minutely, they returned to the kitchen. It was a large, airy room, whose big window overlooked the back garden, but it was terribly old-fashioned, the sink at knee level and the range so old that it must, Emmy guessed, be an antique. The floor was quarry-tiled – easy to keep clean, Emmy thought approvingly – but the whitewashed walls were in sad need of attention and the light bulb which swung from the ceiling was so tiny and so badly placed that, at night, the kitchen would be a very gloomy place.

Emmy, however, knew that all this could be put right with very little outlay; probably the fact that the kitchen would have to be rebuilt would be
reflected in the asking price. So she faced Mr Mac, almost challengingly. ‘Well, what d’you think?’ she asked. ‘I know it’s winter so the garden isn’t looking its best, and you’re going to say the kitchen’s a mess and the geyser in the bathroom must have been installed by Julius Caesar, but, aside from all that, what d’you think?’

To her surprise, Mr Mac, who had been standing by the window, crossed the room in a couple of strides and took both her hands in his. ‘What do
you
think?’ he asked her, his eyes very bright. ‘This is your old territory. How would you like to live here again?’

‘Oh, well, you must have guessed that I think it’s a lovely house,’ Emmy said slowly. ‘But I suppose it’s really a family house and you’re looking for something smaller. Only if your mam did agree to come here . . . and you might have guests . . .’

‘I might have children,’ Mr Mac said quietly. ‘I dare say you think I’m far too old, but I’d love to have a family. I think this would make a wonderful home in which to bring up two or three children, don’t you agree?’

Emmy stared into Mr Mac’s dark eyes and what she read there brought the hot blood rushing to her cheeks. She said unsteadily: ‘Why, you aren’t old at all, Mr Mac, only you’ve never said you meant to start a family, and . . . and . . .’

Mr Mac’s hands slid gently from hers to grasp her by the elbows. ‘It isn’t the done thing to ask a young lady if she would like a family before proposing marriage, you know,’ he said, and to Emmy’s astonishment his voice, too, was rather unsteady. ‘But let’s do things the wrong way round, shall we? Would
you
like a family, Mrs Wesley?’

Emmy stared at him, knowing that her eyes were getting rounder and rounder. ‘I – I’ve already got a family,’ she said huskily. ‘But I’ve always thought it a shame that Diana is an only child. If – if I married again—’ She broke off, and pulled away from Mr Mac, facing him resolutely. ‘Just who
are
you going to marry, Mr Mac? Only – only I do wish it were me.’ She took a deep breath and gathered up all her courage. It was now or never. ‘Will you marry me, please, Mr Mac?’

Mr Mac gave a triumphant shout of laughter and gathered her into his arms. ‘I thought you’d never ask,’ he said, a smile tilting the corners of his mouth. ‘I know I’m ten years older than you but I do believe I fell in love with you the day I interviewed you for a job in the restaurant. Then, as I grew to know you better – visiting you in the sanatorium – I began to see that you were the woman I’d been waiting for all my life. Only you were wrapped up in Johnny Frost and Carl Johansson, both young men of your own age, and didn’t give me a thought. I might tell you, I was near despair, deathly afraid that you would make a snap decision and marry one of them whilst I was still wary of chancing my arm and losing you altogether. Then you asked for my advice and I did my best to put you off the pair of them and—’

‘How devious you are,’ Emmy said, marvelling. ‘And telling me you were going to marry someone else – how I hated her – when all the time . . . all the time . . .’

‘All the time it was you I wanted,’ Mr Mac said, smiling down at her. ‘And of course there was no other woman, there never has been. But I thought, if you got to know me better, not just as a boss or a
sick visitor, but as a man, you might begin to like me a little.’

‘I like you a lot,’ Emmy said shyly. She looked down at her feet and then up at his face. ‘Well, like isn’t really the right word. I – I didn’t know I was in love with you, I thought I was just jealous of the woman you meant to marry. Only I was beginning to see for myself that neither Johnny nor Carl was the right man for me. Then I had the weirdest dream, one of those really daft dreams that don’t seem to make sense at the time, and it’s only later that you can begin to interpret them. I dreamed that Johnny, Carl and another man were all waiting for me to make up my mind which one I wanted, and I knew that Mr Right . . . that’s what I called him in my mind . . . really
was
right – for me, I mean. Only I couldn’t see his face because it was sort of misty and vague. I tried and tried to see him clearly, tried so hard that I woke up. Then, of course, I came into the restaurant and gave you the house details, and you stood up and smiled at me. It – it was just like magic. At that very moment I saw Mr Right’s face clearly, and it was you, and I realised that I’d been in love with you for weeks and weeks, but hadn’t let myself see it.’ She looked ruefully up at Mr Mac and then, on an impulse, threw both arms round his neck and nestled her head into the hollow of his shoulder. ‘It sounds as though I’m making it up, but I’m not,’ she mumbled. ‘Oh, Mr Mac, I’d want to be with you even if you lived in Sweden, like Carl Johansson, or were weak-willed and easy to boss about like Johnny Frost. I can’t remember ever feeling like this before, not even when I first met Peter. Oh, and I still don’t know your first name!’

Mr Mac laughed, boisterously, and hugged her a
little more tightly. ‘My first name’s Ted – Edward, really – and since we’ve decided to get married, I think I ought to kiss you, otherwise we’ll be the only engaged couple in the whole world who have seldom even shaken hands.’

As he spoke, he bent his head, and their lips met. It was a long kiss and a passionate one, and it left Emmy feeling dizzy with delight. I must have been mad, she told herself, not to have realised before how wonderful he is. And we’re going to get married! I’m the luckiest woman in the whole world!

They did not go to Chester after all, but got the taxi driver to take them straight to the estate agent’s, where Mr Mac made an offer for the house in Sydenham Avenue. ‘My fiancée and I prefer it to any of the other properties we have seen,’ he said grandly, giving Emmy’s hand a squeeze. ‘There is quite a lot that needs doing – the kitchen and bathroom both want modernising – so as soon as the contracts are signed and the money has been paid over, I shall get the builders in to do what’s necessary. That is, if the owner accepts my offer,’ he ended.

From the estate agent’s, they went on to a jeweller’s, where Mr Mac insisted upon buying a beautiful sapphire surrounded by diamond chips, though Emmy assured him that the only ring she really wanted was a plain band of gold. ‘I shall wear Peter’s rings on my right hand,’ she said, as they left the shop. ‘Diana shall have them when she’s old enough, but until then I would like to continue to wear them.’ She looked anxiously at Mr Mac. ‘You don’t mind, Mr Ma—I mean, Ted?’

‘I don’t mind at all,’ Mr Mac assured her, steering her across the pavement and back into the taxi. ‘And
now, my love, we must discuss your daughter, our plans for the wedding, where you would like to spend the honeymoon . . .’

‘Diana! Oh, good lord!’ Emmy said, a hand flying to her mouth. ‘She has no idea . . . I’ve never said . . . oh dear, I do hope she isn’t going to be difficult.’

‘I don’t see why she should be,’ Mr Mac said mildly. ‘I know she didn’t want you to marry Mr Johansson, or even Mr Frost, but neither of them lived in the city, so whichever one you married Diana felt she would be moved away from her pals and the area she knew. She was happy in the local school when you lived in Lancaster Avenue, was she not? I dare say it won’t be long before she’s as friendly with the other girls in her class as she was the first time round. No, I don’t see why she should object to our marriage, particularly as I am sure you will want her to be your bridal attendant. Most little girls like the idea of a frothy-laced dress, with yards of tulle, flowers in their hair, and everyone admiring them.’

‘I do hope you’re right,’ Emmy said fervently. ‘But I’m afraid her opinion isn’t going to affect my decision in the least. If she loves me – and I’m sure she does – then she’ll be happy because I’m so happy. I’ll make sure that she’s the first to know . . . in fact, it might be a good idea to meet her out of school. We could take her somewhere nice for tea and break the news over a strawberry ice cream cone and a lemonade; she’d like that.’

‘And then we could run round to Sydenham Avenue and show her the house,’ Mr Mac suggested, as the taxi headed out towards the suburbs once more. ‘But right now, I think we’ll give Chester a miss, my love, and have a light – and rather late – lunch. And
then we’ll really have to start planning our future together.’

Diana had been satisfyingly amazed when her mother had revealed that she was engaged to be married and that the man of her choice was neither Johnny Frost nor Carl Johansson, but Ted McCullough. At first, Diana could not think who Ted McCullough could possibly be, but Mr Mac had put her right on that score.

‘I know it’ll be a surprise to you, Diana, but I hope it won’t be a disappointment,’ he said gravely, though Diana thought that laughter lurked in his eyes. ‘You see, your mother was so popular, and had so many admirers, that I didn’t think I stood a chance, and I wasn’t going to put myself forward to be knocked down like a perishing skittle. Only then she told me that she had decided neither Mr Frost nor Mr Johansson was right for her, and of course that gave me hope. I decided to pop the question and your mam has honoured me by accepting. We’ve put in an offer for a house on Sydenham Avenue and we’re hoping to get married in April, because that’s such a pretty month. Well, what d’you say? Do you approve?’

Diana had stared up at Mr Mac. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask if he were kidding her, because he was Mam’s boss, not a foolish young feller carried away by Emmy’s pretty looks. Also, he was old. To be sure, his hair was thick and dark, but there were silver streaks at his temples and there were tiny lines round his eyes. But then she looked deeply into those eyes and somehow she knew at once that he was not kidding; not only was he going to marry her mother, but he was in love with her, and in love in a much steadier, more sensible way than either Johnny or
Carl had been. To her own secret astonishment, Diana realised that she would welcome Mr Mac – she could not yet think of him as Ted – as a stepfather. He would not pretend to play games with her, as Johnny Frost had done; nor would he treat her with the sort of amused, though veiled, disapproval that Carl had shown. He would be exactly the same on the inside as he was on the outside, Diana concluded, rather confusedly. If he disapproved – or approved – he would say so at once, and she knew he would take good care of her mother; he was that sort of man.

But best of all, she thought, he would leave Diana herself alone. He would not interfere or try to become a father figure. She thought he would leave Emmy to decide how her daughter should behave, and because she liked him, Diana told herself she would behave well. Emmy deserved that much from her.

‘Well?’ That was Emmy, sounding distinctly anxious. The three of them were sitting in a small teashop, Diana with a large dish of ice cream and a glass of lemonade, the adults with a plate of fancy cakes and a pot of tea. ‘Well, Diana darling? What do you think? Only I must warn you, love, that much though I want your approval, it won’t affect my decision. Mr Ma—I mean, Ted and I are going to get married and I know we’re going to be happy.’

Diana took a large spoonful of ice cream and beamed at her mother across the table. ‘I’m really glad and I’m sure you will – be happy, I mean,’ she said. ‘And I do think you were right to give Johnny and Carl the elbow; they really weren’t right for you, Mam. As for me, I guess Sydenham Avenue will be almost as good a place to live as Lancaster was. If you give me my tram fare, I can get to and from the
city pretty easily, and my friends from school and the court will come out to me, I’m sure. And if I remember right, we’re ever so near Sefton Park; it’s as good as the country, is that. I bet Charlie – and the other kids, of course – will be happy enough to spend days in the park, and to have their dinners at our house. Why, we’ve had enough dinners at their house to feed a fighting army, as Uncle Wally would say,’ she ended.

Mr Mac laughed. ‘Aye, you’re right there, queen,’ he acknowledged. ‘Your Aunty Beryl has been marvellous to you and your mam, so I reckon she’ll visit you whenever she can. And now look lively, young lady, and finish that ice cream because it’s getting dark and we’d best be on our way. Tomorrow, we’ll take you to Sydenham Avenue to see what you think of the new house.’

Diana, gulping ice cream at a great rate, assured both adults that she was longing to see the house. ‘But what am I to call you, Mr Mac?’ she asked, rather plaintively. ‘I can’t call you Dad, because – well, because I’ve got a dad of me own, even if he is dead. But just “Ted” sounds rather rude, somehow, coming from a kid like me.’

‘Ted would suit me just fine, but if you feel it sounds cheeky, I’d settle for Uncle Ted,’ Mr Mac said gravely. ‘Of course, Edward is my given name, but hardly anyone uses it; it always makes me feel as if I’ve done something wrong, because the only time my old mam calls me Edward is when I’ve annoyed her in some way. Still, if it would make you more comfortable . . .’

Diana hastily assured him that ‘Uncle Ted’ would be just fine, and presently they set off for home.

*

If Beryl was astonished by Emmy’s news, when the three of them entered the house in Nightingale Court, she hid such feelings very well. Wreathed in smiles, however, she rushed to the front room and brought back a bottle of sherry, so that they might drink to the future happiness of the engaged couple.

‘You don’t seem very surprised, Beryl,’ Emmy said reproachfully, as the three adults settled into the rather stiff and uncomfortable parlour chairs. ‘I know I told you I wasn’t going to marry Johnny or Carl. But I don’t remember giving you any sort of hint . . . well, I couldn’t, because I didn’t know myself until Mr Mac – I mean, Ted – popped the question.’