was a car outside the door as she left. It appeared to be full of small children, and a friendly young woman, the one who had been with the doctor, got out. ‘I say, hello, how nice to meet you again. We’re here for a week so we must get to know each other.’ She smiled. ‘Where’s that woman who runs the place?’
‘I’ll fetch her,’ said Emma, ‘and I’d love to see you again.’
CHAPTER THREE
IT WAS quite late in the evening when the phone rang. ‘It’s me, Wibeke Wolff. There wasn’t time to talk so I got that woman to give me your phone number. I do know who you are, Roele told me, so please forgive me for ringing you up. I don’t know anyone here. Roele’s only free occasionally, and I wondered if you would show me the best places to take the children. A beach where they can be safe in the water? If you would like, could we go somewhere tomorrow? I’ll get a picnic organised. This is awful cheek…’
‘I’d love a picnic,’ said Emma. ‘There are some lovely beaches but we don’t need to go far tomorrow; there’s South Sands only a few minutes in a car. Would that do for a start?’
‘It sounds ideal. You’re sure you don’t mind?’
‘No, of course not. Where shall I meet you?’
‘Here at this cottage? About ten o’clock? I thought we might come back about three o’clock. You’re sure I’m not spoiling your day?’
‘No, I’m looking forward to it. And I’ll be there in the morning.’
‘Who was that, Emma?’ Her mother looked hopeful. ‘Someone you have met taking you out for lunch?’
‘A picnic. Mrs Wibeke Wolff with three children; we’re having a picnic lunch at South Sands tomorrow.’
‘Oh, well, I suppose it’s a change for you. I shall be out in the afternoon; I’ll make a sandwich or something for my lunch.’
Emma took this remark for what it was worth. Her mother had no intention of doing any such thing. She said cheerfully, ‘I’ll leave lunch all ready for you, Mother, and cook supper after we’ve been to church. Unless you want to go to Matins?’
‘You know I need my rest in the morning. Just bring me a cup of tea and I’ll manage my own breakfast.’
‘If you want to,’ said Emma briskly. ‘There’ll be breakfast as usual in the morning, but if you would rather get up later and cook something?’
‘No, no, I’ll come down in my dressing gown. I don’t have much strength in the morning, but then of course I have always been delicate.’
Emma, her head full of the morrow’s picnic, wasn’t listening.
Sunday was another glorious morning. Emma got into a cotton dress and sandals, found a straw hat and a swimsuit, got breakfast for her gently complaining parent and made her way through the still quiet streets to the holiday cottages.
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