A Betty Neels Christmas: A Christmas Proposal\Winter Wedding (14 page)

Mrs Crewe put her head round the sitting room door. She didn't make any remarks about how early it was or what had happened, but said instantly in her comfortable voice: ‘I'll put the kettle on—we'll have a cup of tea.'

The little room looked shabbier than ever, the worn covers of the chairs and the elderly carpet highlighted
by the bright fire. Emily took off her coat and sat down and the Professor sat down opposite her.

‘Feeling better?' he wanted to know.

‘Yes, thank you; I've got a headache…'

‘That'll be all right after a good sleep. I'm going to help Mrs Crewe.'

The kitchen was even shabbier than the dining room, its shelves filled with cheap saucepans and a miscellanea of china. He went and stood by Mrs Crewe, who looked up at him questioningly.

‘I'll take you home presently,' he told her, ‘but first a cup of tea, I think.'

‘What went wrong, Professor?'

‘Sammy deserted her, and some fool had laced the fruit cup with vodka. Emily's had three glasses of it.' His fine mouth twisted a little.

‘The poor kid,' said Mrs Crewe warmly, ‘what she puts up with is no one's business,' and added hastily, ‘Of course, it's her business—I shouldn't have said that.'

‘I guessed something of the sort. Shall I carry the tray in?'

The Professor seemed in no hurry to go. He stayed until long after midnight, waiting with Mrs Crewe while Emily went up to her room and got ready for bed.

When she came downstairs again, her hair in a smooth curtain around her shoulders, wrapped in a dressing gown, bought more for its practical warmth than its glamour, he got up and leaned against the door while she and Mrs Crewe exchanged a few part
ing words. He seemed totally uninterested, his gaze fixed on a particularly revolting picture of a clutch of dead pheasants and a bunch of grapes which hung on the wall. Emily, glancing up, thought that he was bored and longing to be gone; she made short work of her good nights, thanked them both for their kindness and saw them to the door. But here the Professor paused. ‘No, go upstairs to bed,' he ordered her, ‘and call out when you're in it; it's the best place for you for the time being.'

She couldn't but agree with him; she went upstairs meekly enough and climbed into bed and obediently called that she was there. Only then did he usher Mrs Crewe out and shut the door behind him. Emily lay for a while in the quiet little house, going over her evening. It hadn't been a success; indeed, it had been a miserable fiasco and how she would ever look the Professor in the face again she didn't know. And there was the question of the locket to settle with Louisa. Tomorrow was going to be a perfectly beastly day. She frowned above tight shut eyes and slept, never hearing the Professor and Louisa coming in more than an hour later. It might have comforted her to have known that he did no more than open the door for her sister, bid her a pleasant goodnight, and get back into his car.

E
MILY NEED NOT
have worried; when she went on duty the next day it was to be told by Sister that Professor Jurres-Romeijn had gone back to his own country.

Emily felt a curious sinking sensation. ‘For good?' she asked.

‘No, no, some date he had with someone or other—a girl-friend, most likely—he's not married, you know.' She glanced at Emily. ‘You look a bit under the weather, Staff—too much dancing last night, I suppose.' She didn't wait for Emily to reply but went on briskly. ‘Go and see to Mr Taylor, will you. He's very nervous of his tube—try and explain to him…'

She dismissed Emily with a nod and bent her head over her paper work once more.

Emily hadn't seen Louisa before she left for work. She had seen to the twins, given them their early morning feed, eaten a hasty meal herself and then nipped quietly into Louisa's room with her alarm clock, set for half past eight. The twins wouldn't sleep after that, even on full tummies, and Louisa would probably not wake. It was a pity, Emily thought worriedly, that she wouldn't be home until after five
o'clock, Louisa would be tired after the ball and perhaps impatient with the twins. But she had to dismiss any doubts from her mind and get on with her work. The wards were full and there would be a theatre list tomorrow; patients had to be prepared, reassured and advised as to how they should behave after the operation.

Emily went through her day with her usual calm good sense, not allowing any private thoughts to intrude into it. Only as she was cycling home did she let her mind roam. Louisa would be cross, she felt sure. After the excitement of the ball, the dull routine of her day would have irked her, the necessity of feeding and bathing the babies, taking them for a walk in their pram, doing the household chores, would have brought on one of her bad moods. She had had them as a child; when she found that she wasn't to have her own way, she had sulked and cried and made life miserable for everyone, until, very often, she had been given in to. Emily heaved such an enormous sigh that she almost fell off her bike. It was to be hoped that the Professor had been so charming that Louisa was still under his influence.

Which to a certain extent was true. Louisa, after a brief grumble about her hard day, launched herself into an account of her evening which lasted while Emily took off her things, made the tea, went to see the twins, and came downstairs again. They shouldn't have been in their cots as early as they were, but as Louisa explained, she was so tired herself that she had put them there in the hope that they might sleep until
their feed was due. ‘And I took them out this afternoon,' she said virtuously. ‘Although I could hardly put one foot in front of the other.'

Emily made soothing noises, poured tea and surveyed the evening ahead of her. No washing had been done and the twins would want their six o'clock feed very shortly; there was no sign of supper either. She drank her tea slowly, toasting her feet in front of the fire, then set about methodically putting things to rights. The washing machine was loaded, the babies' feed prepared, and the potatoes peeled and in a saucepan before William let out a howl followed all too quickly by Claire. Emily nipped upstairs, changed them and whisked them downstairs and into their high chairs. ‘You do Claire, I'll see to William,' she told Louisa, still lounging by the fire. ‘And it's a pity you didn't put the washing machine on a bit earlier in the day—nothing will dry overnight.'

Louisa pouted. ‘What a cross old maid you're getting, Emily,' she observed. ‘No wonder you never get asked to dances and parties.'

Which remark was so unfair that Emily could think of nothing to say to it. But later, when the babies were safely tucked up and the supper was cooking, she confronted her sister.

‘The locket,' she said. ‘You'll have to get it back, Louisa.'

‘How can I? I haven't a penny—my allowance doesn't come for another week, and I need some clothes if I'm going to London. Really, Emily, you
ought to be glad that I was able to fit myself out so well.'

‘Never mind your new clothes—you'll go tomorrow and ask them to keep it until you can fetch it.' Emily wasn't often cross, but she was now. Louisa gave her a doubtful look and then said reluctantly:

‘Oh, well—all right, though I do think you're mean.'

And later, in bed Emily wondered uneasily if she was mean, perhaps she was becoming old-maidish, even though there wasn't supposed to be any such thing nowadays. When Mary was home again and the twins had gone, she would give up the horrid house they were living in, go back to London and get a job at her old hospital, find a small flat close by and have some fun. She was a bit vague about what sort of fun, but it involved buying some pretty clothes and having a holiday and going to a trendy hairdresser.

She woke quite cheerful, her daydream still very much alive in her head so that the ward wasn't irksome at all and even Sister, in a bad temper all day, couldn't quite destroy it. She cycled home through the bleak evening making rather wild plans for the future, interrupted much too frequently by speculations as to when the Professor would return. Why he should be so entangled with that same future, she had no idea, only when she thought about her new wardrobe and all the parties she would go to he seemed, quite naturally, to be with her.

She opened the house door, still in a dreamy state,
and had her euphoria blown to smithereens at once. Louisa poked her head round the kitchen door.

‘There you are. I've some bad news for you, Emily, and you might as well know it at once. The locket's sold. It was sold as soon as the shop opened this morning, and that silly man I asked about it wouldn't tell me who'd bought it.'

Emily stared at her unbelievingly. ‘But it can't be—who could have wanted it? Was it in the window?'

Louisa shrugged. ‘How should I know? Anyway, it's gone and there's nothing we can do about it, is there?' She glanced at Emily and then quickly away. ‘Renier thought my outfit was lovely.'

‘Renier?' Emily was brooding over her lost locket.

‘The Professor, silly. Oh, Emily, don't you ever bother about anyone? Did you see him today?'

‘He's in Holland.' Emily picked William up from his playpen and started to tickle his small fat chin.

Louisa's face dropped. ‘He didn't tell me…'

‘Why should he? You're a girl he took to a dance, Louisa—nothing more.'

Louisa's lovely eyes narrowed. ‘I've every intention of being much more. Just you wait until I've done my modelling course and got myself some decent clothes.' She let out a gusty sigh. ‘Oh, just you wait, Emily!'

Emily was too cross to answer. She tucked William under one arm and went into the kitchen to put the kettle on.

She went to the jeweller's the next day, but he
wasn't prepared to tell her who it was who had bought he locket; even when she explained that it was all a mistake, that her sister had sold it because of a misunderstanding. The manager was regretful but quite adamant. Emily, a mild-tempered girl on the whole, went home in a filthy temper, all the worse because she couldn't give vent to it until the twins were in bed and asleep, and then Louisa, sensing the storm which was brewing, declared that she had promised that she would go to the cinema with Tracey and tore out of the house just as Emily was on the point of unleashing her rage.

It was two days later that she saw the Professor again. She had had a frustrating day at the hospital; nothing had gone right, the tonsils in the Children's ward had all behaved badly, screaming and raging and being sick, and she had become worn out with persuading them to be good and feeding them ice cream and cuddling them when they cried. Sister, who wasn't keen on children, always left Emily to deal with tonsil day.

The weather was as gloomy as her mood as she got out her bike and started off home, despite the fact that Sister had allowed her to go home early. As she wheeled her bike through the gate she was surprised to see that there was no light on anywhere. She couldn't remember Louisa telling her that she would be out as late as this with the twins, unless she had taken them out to tea with one of her youthful friends. Emily unlocked the back door and went into the kitchen to find the house quiet. There was no note
and no one answered when she called. More puzzled than worried, she took off her outdoor things and looked into the sitting room, but there was no one there either—perhaps Louisa had left a message in her room. She went upstairs to see. Louisa's room was untidy; it always was. Her own, in contrast, looked bare. Frowning now, Emily went back on to the landing. She must have missed a note downstairs somewhere. The door of the twins' little room was shut and almost without thinking, she opened it and looked inside. The babies were in their cots, apparently asleep.

Only they weren't asleep. They were unconscious—out cold—their small hands and feet icy, their pupils not reacting, their breaths so shallow she could barely see that they were breathing. An icy hand clutched at Emily's heart and the wish to give way to panic was so great that she was forced to close her eyes for a moment—long enough for her calm good sense to take over. She looked round the room rapidly; there might be some clue. And there was; on the mantelpiece there was a small bottle of Seconal.

During the next seconds her mind registered two facts: the tablets were out of reach of the twins, and the bottle was tightly stoppered; and that Louisa had grumbled on the previous evening because she had wanted to go to a late afternoon fashion show at the Town Hall and Emily had told her that it couldn't be done because she herself wouldn't be home until half past five at the earliest.

Even while her mind was busy, so were her capable
hands; taking pulses, feeling the small bodies for the clamminess and the chill. At least their breathing, although far too shallow and light, was unhampered, at least for the moment, and they hadn't been sick. She thanked heaven for that and at the same time tried to think what was best to be done. She gave them one more anxious look and started down the stairs at a run. She was almost at their foot when the front door bell rang.

She was across the little hall in a flash to open it and let out a great gusty sigh of relief when she saw who it was—the Professor, his powerful frame looming large in the poky porch.

Emily put out an urgent hand and clutched his sleeve. ‘Thank heaven it's you!' she exclaimed in a small scream. ‘The twins…'

He bent his head and came through the door, closing it behind him so that in the narrow passage they were jammed close together. ‘They're ill?'

‘Yes,' she moved towards the stairs, ‘oh, you must hurry—they're up here…'

He was right behind her as she galloped up the stairs and at the bedroom door he lifted her aside with one hand and went past her to the cots.

It seemed an age before he lifted his head from examining the babies, although it wasn't more than a minute. ‘Coma,' he said. ‘How on earth…there's no gas in the room?'

‘No…I think they must have had…'

She didn't finish because he had already seen the little bottle for himself.

‘Seconal.' He flashed her a look. ‘Do you take sleeping tablets?'

‘No—I…'

‘They must go to hospital at once—my car's outside.' He began to wrap William in a blanket and Emily went to do the same for Claire. The Professor glanced up briefly and she was horrified at the icy look in his eyes; his voice was ice too. ‘You've been on duty all day?' And when she nodded: ‘Is this how you keep them quiet? Dope them? Only this time your hand slipped…'

He pushed past her and started downstairs and Emily stood, shocked into stillness by his words. Her face was chalk white and she was shivering with fright and cold, but she followed him, climbed into the car without a word, received William's still little body on to her lap where Claire already lay, and sat still speechless while he raced through the dull streets to the Accident Bay, where he flung open the door, urged her to be quick and went inside with William. There was help immediately, of course. The twins were laid gently down and their small stomachs washed out while their noses and mouths were cleared to prevent their lungs collapsing. Half way through the Professor turned round and saw Emily, standing like a frozen statue, just behind him.

‘Go away,' he told her harshly.

She gave him a look of loathing. ‘No. I'm staying.'

And stay she did, keeping as close as she dared while the Professor, the Casualty Officer, an anaesthetist, her friend, Staff Nurse O'Brien and a student
nurse worked their hardest. William recovered first and only the Professor's large arm prevented her leaping to gather him in her arms. His ‘Stay where you are, Nurse Seymour,' was uttered in a tone of voice which would countenance no disobedience, and common sense told her that he was quite right. William wasn't going to be himself for a little while yet; he was wrapped up carefully and borne off to the Children's ward while they bent over Claire. She responded presently, too, but only after the Professor had ordered an injection of Megimide. Emily watched her carried away to join her brother, glanced at the Professor, giving instructions to the Casualty Officer, and at Bernadette O'Brien and her nurse, clearing up the mess, and edged to the door. No one was going to stop her going to Children's and staying until the twins were perfectly recovered.

She was actually at the door when the Professor's voice halted her. ‘I should like to speak to you,' he warned her, and when she took a tentative step backwards: ‘Now.'

In a voice which no one else there could hear, he said: ‘Now I should like to know more about this most regrettable happening. How many tablets did you give? And have you done it before?' She hesitated and he added: ‘We will go into the entrance; we shan't be disturbed.'