him.
Dr Mason was already there. Emily kissed her father, was greeted cheerfully by the doctor and introduced Mr vanTecqx, who nodded at the doctor, remarking that they were acquainted, and then shook hands with her father.
Her father was not in the least surprised to see him. Dr Mason, he explained to Emily, had arranged it all and he for his part was delighted. ‘Although I dare say I shall still have another year or two to wait, but just to be told by you, Mr van Tecqx, that there’s a possibility of success is a great encouragement.’
Emily, swamped in the unexpectedness of it all and vaguely suspicious at the same time, allowed her parent to suggest that she might go along to the kitchen and make coffee for everyone. ‘And don’t hurry back,’ begged Mr Grenfell. ‘We can manage very nicely.’
Emily gave Mr van Tecqx a speaking glance and did as she was told. Matters for the moment at least, were out of her hands.
There was plenty to do in the kitchen. She arranged a tray, ground the coffee and set it in the old percolator on to the gas stove. Mrs Owen had been that morning, for the dishes were washed and stacked neatly, but the sink needed a good scrub and her idea of cleaning the floor wasn’t Emily’s. Emily took off her outdoor things, donned an apron and set to work. She was washing her hands at the now pristine sink when her father called to her to bring in the coffee. She had got a little untidy as she worked, but beyond tucking a stray lock of hair behind an ear, she had no time for more; she bore in the tray which Mr van Tecqx took for her and set on the table under the window.
It was very vexing that the three men were discussing cricket and showed no sign of changing the conversation. She handed out cups, sugar and biscuits and sat composedly, seething inwardly. It seemed a long time before Dr Mason put down his cup and saucer, declared that he still had the rest of his patients to see and he would leave them all to make the arrangements. He shook Mr Grenfell’s hand, gave Emily a friendly pat on the back with the injunction to be a good girl, then shook hands with Mr van Tecqx. ‘Give me a ring when you’re ready and I’ll fix things this end. I’m greatly obliged to you, Sebastian.’
Emily, itching to hear what they had all been discussing, was momentarily diverted by the idea of Mr van Tecqx being called Sebastian. She wondered if his friends called him Seb and decided that they wouldn’t dare—he would fix them with a glare from the blue eyes which were almost always half hidden by heavy lids. She studied him from where she sat. He must be around thirty-five, she supposed; his fair hair had a good deal of silver in it…
He had turned his head to look at her and she went bright pink and looked away, wishing fervently that she didn’t blush so easily.
‘I must admire your patience, Emily.’ He came and sat down between her and her father. ‘I think we might operate on your father within the next week or so.’
She sat up very straight. ‘But I—where will he go? Sister said there wasn’t a bed for months…’ She looked at her father. ‘Father, do explain!’
‘Well, dear, I think Mr van Tecqx can do that better than I. I shall leave it to him.’
‘Ah, yes—Emily, if you will walk with me to the car we can settle matters easily enough.’
Out of her father’s hearing she said urgently, ‘I don’t understand, and there you were talking about cricket…it’s all very well stating you’ll operate. Don’t think I’m ungrateful, but you don’t understand—it’ll have to be private, of course, and the thing is I haven’t saved enough money—it will be at least four or five months, and you might not be here then.’
‘No, I shan’t. Your father can have a bed in a private hospital where I sometimes send patients, and I will operate there, and he can convalesce in a rest home—there is a good one just outside Richmond.’
Emily stopped herself just in time from wringing her hands. ‘But you don’t understand!’ They were standing by the car and she stared up anxiously into his face.
‘If you would just trust me, Emily. I have to go—I’m already late—but I shall come for you tomorrow evening and I will explain. There will be no question of fees, but I want to strike a bargain with you. More about that later.’ With which infuriatingly unhelpful remark he got into his car and drove off.
Her father was just as unhelpful, not meaning to be but wanting to discuss every aspect of the operation and what it would mean in the future.
‘I must say,’ he observed happily to Emily, ‘it’s extremely good of Mr van Tecqx to make an operation possible. It seems he has beds at his disposal at some private hospital and the opportunity to operate before he returns to Holland. I mentioned fees, but he said he’d come to some arrangement with you, my dear. I dare say you can pull a few strings with the National Health people?’ He gave a chuckle. ‘Nursing must have its perks!’
Emily agreed cheerfully. There was no point in voicing her doubts and it was really wonderful to see her father so happy.
It was impossible to worry all the time. She cooked and cleaned and shopped in the village, then went for a rambling walk to go home in the gathering dusk to cook their supper and feed Podge, and her simple chores soothed her so that by the time Mr van Tecqx arrived at the gate she was prepared to hear whatever it was that he wanted to say.
He had arrived earlier than she had expected—he had said he would fetch her in the evening, but it was barely four o’clock and she had just made the tea. Probably he had a date in town, she decided, and invited him to have a cup of tea which she assured him was ready, and she was also quite ready to leave.
When he had drunk his tea and eaten a good deal of the cake she had made he still made no move to go. Instead, much to Emily’s surprise, he suggested that she might accompany him on a brief walk. ‘There are things which I have to say to you,’ he concluded.
‘Oh, well—all right. But don’t you have to get back to town? I thought that as you were here so early…’ She faltered at the smile and amused look on his face.
‘Of course I have to get back—so do you; that’s why I’m here so early.’
He waited patiently while she got her coat, tied a scarf around her head and made sure that her father was comfortable, and then accompanied him down the path and into the lane.
‘Somewhere quiet?’ he suggested.
‘Down the lane to the end; there’s a bridle path we can take, it will bring us out on the other side of the Tollhouse—about twenty minutes or so.’
‘Excellent.’
He had nothing to say for a minute or so and she prompted him with, ‘You want to strike a bargain?’
He was walking at his own pace, so that she had difficulty in keeping up with him. ‘Yes. I’m prepared to operate upon your father—both hips—within the next week or two. Neither I nor the anaesthetist nor the private hospital where I propose he should be will require fees, although I do ask something in return. I have a young sister—the youngest of four—nineteen years old. She contracted polio last year and is making a slow recovery—too slow for her. She is impatient, given to bouts of rage and fits of depression. She is wearing my mother down, and a succession of nurses come and go with predictable rapidity. She needs someone of her own age, someone calm and kind and patient and at the same time firm. She is a dear girl, make no mistake, and she will make an almost complete recovery; but at the moment she has stopped trying;
