Emma drank some tea and swallowed tears with it. She had loved her father, although they had never been close and the greater part of his paternal affection had been given to her brother James, twenty-three years old and four years her junior. And presently, most unfortunately, backpacking round the world after leaving university with a disappointing degree in science.
They weren’t even quite sure where he was at the moment; his last address had been Java, with the prospect of Australia, and even if they had had an address and he’d come home at once she didn’t think that he would have been of much help.
He was a dear boy, and she loved him, but her mother and father had spoilt him so that although he was too nice a young man to let it ruin his nature, it had tended to make him easygoing and in no hurry to settle down to a serious career.
He had had a small legacy from their grandmother when she died, and that had been ample to take care of his travels. She thought it unlikely that he would break off his journey, probably arguing that he was on the other side of the world and that Mr Trump would deal with his father’s affairs, still under the impression that he had left his mother and sister in comfortable circumstances.
Emma didn’t voice these thoughts to her mother but instead settled that lady for a nap and went back to the kitchen to prepare for their supper. Mrs Tims would have left something ready to be cooked and there was nothing much to do. Emma sat down at the table, found pencil and paper, and wrote down everything which would have to be done.
A great deal! And she couldn’t hope to do it all herself. Mr Trump would deal with the complicated financial situation, but what about the actual selling of the house and their possessions? And what would they be allowed to keep of those? Mr Trump had mentioned an overdraft at the bank, and money which had been borrowed from friends with the promise that it would be returned to them with handsome profits.
Emma put her head down on the table and cried. But not for long. She wiped her eyes, blew her nose and picked up her pencil once more.
If they were allowed to keep the cottage at least they would have a rent-free home and one which she had always loved, although her mother found the little town of Salcombe lacking in the kind of social life she liked, but it would be cheaper to live there for that very reason. She would find work; during the summer months there was bound to be a job she could do—waitressing, or working in one of the big hotels or a shop. The winter might not be as easy, the little town sank into peace and quiet, but Kingsbridge was only a bus ride away, and that was a bustling small town with plenty of shops and cafés…
Feeling more cheerful, Emma made a list of their own possessions which surely they would be allowed to keep. Anything saleable they must sell, although she thought it was unlikely that her mother would be prepared to part with her jewellery, but they both had expensive clothes—her father had never grudged them money for those—and they would help to swell the kitty.
She got the supper then, thinking that it was a pity that Derek wouldn’t be back in England for three more days. They weren’t engaged, but for some time now their future together had become a foregone conclusion. Derek was a serious young man and had given her to understand that once he had gained the promotion in the banking firm for which he worked they would marry.
Emma liked him, indeed she would have fallen in love with him and she expected to do that without much difficulty, but although he was devoted to her she had the idea that he didn’t intend to show his proper feelings until he proposed. She had been quite content; life wasn’t going to be very exciting, but a kind husband who would cherish one, and any children, and give one a comfortable home should bring her happiness.
She wanted to marry, for she was twenty-seven, but ever since she had left school there had always been a reason why she couldn’t leave home, train for something and be independent. She had hoped that when James had left the university she could be free, but when she had put forward her careful plans it had been to discover that he had already arranged to be away for two years at least, and her mother had become quite hysterical at the idea of not having one or other of her children at home with her. And, of course, her father had agreed…
Perhaps her mother would want her to break off with Derek, but she thought not. A son-in-law in comfortable circumstances would solve their difficulties…
During the next three days Emma longed for Derek’s return. It seemed that the business of being declared bankrupt entailed a mass of paperwork, with prolonged and bewildering visits from severe-looking men with briefcases. Since her mother declared that she would have nothing to do with any of it, Emma did her best to answer their questions and fill in the forms they offered.
‘But I’ll not sign anything until Mr Trump has told me that I must,’ she told them.
It was all rather unnerving; she would have liked a little time to grieve about her father’s death, but there was no chance of that. She went about her household duties while her mother sat staring at nothing and weeping, and Mrs Tims and Ethel worked around the house, grim-faced at the unexpectedness of it all.
Derek came, grave-faced, offered Mrs Dawson quiet condolences and went with Emma to her father’s study. But if she had expected a shoulder to cry on she didn’t get it. He was gravely concerned for her, and kind, but she knew at once that he would never marry her now. He had an important job in the banking world, and marrying the daughter of a man who had squandered a fortune so recklessly was hardly going to enhance his future.
He listened patiently to her problems, observed that she was fortunate to have a sound man such as Mr Trump to advise her, and told her to be as helpful with ‘Authority’ as possible.
‘I’m afraid there are no mitigating circumstances,’ he told her. ‘I looked into the whole affair when I got back today. Don’t attempt to contest anything, whatever you do. Hopefully there will be enough money to clear your father’s debts once everything is sold.’
Emma sat looking at him—a good-looking man in his thirties, rather solemn in demeanour, who had nice manners, was honest in his dealings, and not given to rashness of any sort. She supposed that it was his work which had driven the warmth from his heart and allowed common sense to replace the urge to help her at all costs and, above all, to comfort her.
‘Well,’ said Emma in a tight little voice, ‘how fortunate it is that you didn’t give me a ring, for I don’t need to give it back.’
He looked faintly surprised. ‘I wasn’t aware that we had discussed the future,’ he told her.
‘There is no need, is there? I haven’t got one, have I? And yours matters to you.’
He agreed gravely. ‘Indeed it does. I’m glad, Emma, that you are sensible enough to realise that, and I hope that you will too always consider me as a friend. If I can help in any way…If I can help financially?’
‘Mr Trump is seeing to the money, but thank you for offering. We shall be able to manage very well once everything is sorted out.’
‘Good. I’ll call round from time to time and see how things are…’
‘We shall be busy packing up—there is no need.’ She added in a polite hostess voice, ‘Would you like a cup of coffee before you go?’
‘No—no, thank you. I’m due at the office in the morning and I’ve work to do first.’
He wished Mrs Dawson goodbye, and as Emma saw him to the door he bent to kiss her cheek. ‘If ever you should need help or advice…’
