Chapter Sixteen

‘Mr Smythe?’ Emma couldn’t believe who she was seeing.

Rupert Smythe, who had ordered her from his hotel, and banned Seth from entering it, was standing on her doorstep. He looked unsure of himself – goodness, whatever had happened to make him look like that? He was getting married in a fortnight’s time and should be looking happier than he was, shouldn’t he?

Emma hadn’t seen him since the night she’d left Nase Head House dressed in a dance frock and with only her money and a few possessions. And now here he was.

And then it struck her that something might have happened to Ruby. She began to shiver almost uncontrollably. Her parents and Johnnie. Beattie. All gone.

‘Please, Mr Smythe, don’t tell me something terrible has happened to Ruby.’

‘May I come in?’

Emma breathed in hard and sharp. Something had happened, she was sure of it. ‘Not before you answer my question.’

Mr Smythe smiled the wry smile she remembered so well, almost as though he was laughing at her. ‘Very well. Ruby is in perfect health. Now may I come in?’

‘I’m not sure. You see, my husband isn’t here. He might not like it.’

‘I’d rather not talk business on his doorstep,’ Rupert Smythe said.

Ah, so it was something of a business nature he wanted to talk to her about. Nothing terrible had happened to Ruby.

Emma exhaled and all her fright went with it. ‘Just inside the hallway, then,’ she said.

She opened the door wider and Rupert Smythe stepped inside.

‘He what?’ Seth said.

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing? Rupert Smythe had called and Emma had let him into the house. Only into the hall, so she’d said, but that was one step too far in as far as he was concerned. Seth had, he knew, no reason to be quite so outraged, since he himself had marched into Nase Head House uninvited to see Ruby about the letters Caunter had sent to Emma. But Smythe had been scheming to get Emma to marry him once. And at the back of Seth’s mind, as always, was the fact that he and Emma weren’t married in the eyes of the law.

‘He asked me if I would do the food for the evening reception. After his wedding. The one the staff will go to. And lesser friends – that’s how he put it, lesser friends. I think he means ones with less money than he and the Gillets have got. At least, I hope that’s what he means. A buffet. For fifty people or so. He’s not sure of the numbers yet. He wants crab tarts and any other sort of tart I think people will like. And a dessert. I suggested the bûche de Noël, even though it isn’t Christmas, because I’ve got that as near to the taste I remember Papa making now and—’

‘No, Emma!’ Seth shouted. He’d never raised his voice to Emma but he was raising it now, although it wasn’t really to her – it was about the situation. It was untenable. ‘I forbid it. Besides, he has a chef. Why can’t he do it?’

‘The chef’s upped and left over something. Yesterday. Thank goodness he’d refused guest bookings in the run-up to the wedding, so there aren’t hotel guests to worry about. The commis chef, so Mr Smythe said, can cook for the family and the few staff that have been retained. I didn’t know he had a commis chef, Ruby never said.’

‘This is all a foreign language to me, Emma.’

But not to her, he realised, with the fancy French names for what went on in a hotel kitchen.

‘I’ll explain it if you want me to. About what commis means.’

‘Don’t bother. Just tell me what else Smythe had to say.’

‘All right,’ Emma said with a sigh. ‘Although I know you don’t want to hear it really. Mr Smythe said the Gillet family are laying on the wedding breakfast at Mayfield Manor, but he’d agreed the evening reception would be at Nase Head House. But now he needs someone to make the food. So he’s asked me.’

‘Then he can disagree,’ Seth said. ‘He can go somewhere else. Ask someone else.’

‘He didn’t say exactly,’ Emma carried on, as though he hadn’t spoken, ‘but I’ve got a feeling Joanna Gillet’s got something to do with the chef leaving. Ruby’s told me more than a few tales about her. How she’s not very nice to the children, and how she throws her weight about with all the staff, even though she’s not married to Mr Smythe yet. That’s what Ruby said.’

‘I don’t know that you can believe everything Ruby says.’

‘How dare you say that? Ruby is a good and loyal friend. To us both. She …’

Emma’s mouth went wide and round. They both knew what she was going to say. Ruby had been trustworthy and loyal over the letters Caunter had been writing to Emma, so why wouldn’t he believe anything Ruby told her?

The last thought he needed in his head at this moment was Caunter, but there he was, between them in the room. Seth wasn’t going to mention his name and he knew Emma wouldn’t either.

Emma seemed to have run out of things to say now and while Seth had lots of questions, he wasn’t going to ask them because he didn’t want to hear the answers. Emma had agreed to do as Smythe had asked, hadn’t she? Behind his back. Without asking.

Neither of them spoke.

They were at stalemate.

‘I said I’d do it,’ Emma said at last, confirming all Seth’s fears. ‘This could be just what I need to get my business up and running again after all the setbacks, and Beattie’s death. I’m sure there have been hotels and cafés that have declined to give me business because they’re friends of Mr Smythe’s and, well, they were being loyal to him when he said bad things about us, I suppose. But now all that’s changing. I said I’d do it on one condition.’

‘Which is?’ Seth didn’t want her doing it on any conditions. He didn’t want her business up and running again if it would mean she’d have a reason not to go to Canada. He’d been as understanding as he could be over Beattie’s death and given her a period of mourning, but, all the same …

‘That he issues both of us with an official invitation. And that once the food is laid out for the buffet, we join the wedding party. You and me. Mr and Mrs Seth Jago, formally announced. Dressed up in all our finery. That should stop a few tongues wagging, shouldn’t it?’

Emma ran across the room and snatched a card off the mantelpiece.

A fait accompli. Smythe had known what Emma would say and had come prepared – invitation to hand. He’d tricked her, and she’d fallen for it.

Damn and damn, and damn and blast the man!

But Seth knew that to try and stop Emma doing this would be like trying to stop a runaway horse with your arms tied behind your back.

‘You don’t ’ave to do this, Emma,’ Ruby said, although Emma had to smile because Ruby wasn’t trying very hard to stop her. ‘I’m only supposed to be keeping an eye on Belle and the boys for the first ’our of the dance. Belle wanted to dress up, and who can blame ’er? My cream crêpe will do well enough.’

‘No it won’t. You should be dressed appropriately,’ Emma said. ‘Mr Smythe told me he’s getting temporary staff in for all the kitchen work and the waiting so the usual hotel staff can join in. I don’t see why you can’t be dressed up even if it’s only for an hour. Come on.’

Emma still couldn’t quite believe how easy it had been to get Seth to agree to her doing the catering for Mr Smythe’s wedding buffet and dance. It was the embossed invitation that had clinched it, she was sure of it, even though Emma knew Mr Smythe had exercised cunning in bringing it with him.

‘Bossy boots,’ Ruby said. She grinned and poked her tongue out playfully at Emma.

‘I know, and I don’t mean to be. But it’s the nursemaid’s first day and I don’t want to leave Fleur with her for too long the first time.’

And that was another surprise. Seth had agreed readily enough to hiring a nursemaid. Emma had interviewed four girls and how odd that had seemed. There were days when Emma felt little more than a schoolgirl herself, so to be interviewing someone for the same position she’d had when she’d lived and worked at Nase Head House for Mr Smythe was almost unbelievable. So much had happened in the past three years. She’d grown up quickly – she’d had to.

Dared she hope that Seth was giving up on the idea of going to Canada? Dared she?

‘You never asked me,’ Ruby said, with something that looked like a childish pout. ‘I could ’ave done that for you, Em, really I could. Things is going to change at the ’otel once Miss ’Oorseface Gillet is Mrs ’Orseface Smythe, you mark my words if they don’t.’

‘Stop it, Ruby. That’s not a nice thing to say. And in public, too. It’s not as if your voice is quiet either.’

Ruby shrugged, obviously not at all put out by the telling off.

‘Well, sure as eggs is bleedin’ eggs, things is goin’ to change, but ’er face ain’t one of ’em.’

‘Ruuubbby,’ Emma said, but she couldn’t help laughing as she said it.

‘Well, just so you know, I’m put out you didn’t ask. Only not put out enough not to come out with you buying frocks.’ Ruby giggled and gave Emma’s shoulders an affectionate squeeze. ‘Anyhows, I’d ’ave liked nothing better’n lookin’ after Fleur. Just so’s you know. In case this nursemaid turns out to be a witch.’

‘She won’t. And I didn’t ask you because I wouldn’t have wanted you to. I don’t want you to go from being my friend to being in my employ. I know I asked you to work for me once, but I’m older and wiser now and I can see it would have been the wrong thing to do.’

‘Lawks a mercy, ’ark at you! Bein’ in your employ indeed!’

‘That’s what it would amount to, Ruby,’ Emma said.

No, far better that Lily Richardson had been taken on as nursemaid.

‘Well, all I can say is, if Mrs Drew had gone and died after this bloomin’ wedding, then … oh gawd, me and me big blabbermouth again. Sorry, Em.’

Emma nodded, accepting the apology. The mention of Beattie’s name had made Emma’s heart miss a beat. It was still a shock to remember that she’d never see Beattie again, never hear her call her ‘lovie’ with such warmth in her voice.

‘Come on! We’re wasting time. Who knows what might happen to any of us in the future? It’s frock-buying time for you now!’

Emma took Ruby’s hand and pulled her up the carpeted stairs in Bobby’s. How soft it was under her feet after the long walk from Torquay railway station on hard pavements and over cobbles, and after that the hard wooden floors of all the other shops they’d been in, where there had been nothing suitable either in colour or style or in price for either Ruby or Emma.

And time was running out for Emma. She’d have to get back to Fleur soon.

Emma had offered to drive Ruby over in the car, but Ruby had turned up her nose at the idea. She’d never been on a train, she said, and didn’t she hear enough about it from Mr Smythe’s twins and all the holidaymakers who came to Nase Head House.

A saleslady came towards them the second they stepped into the third floor sales hall. The woman ignored Ruby in her old felt hat and coat, which was now too short for her, and spoke to Emma. ‘How can I help you, madam? Something for your, er, lady’s—’

‘Ruby’s my friend,’ Emma said.

If she could have turned right around and walked out again, then she would have done. But she couldn’t because the day of the wedding was getting closer and if they didn’t find something today, Ruby wouldn’t be able to have any more time off to go looking again. How dare the woman make assumptions about how Ruby was dressed, just because Emma was better dressed these days?

‘Yeah,’ Ruby said, ‘an’ she’s my friend an’ all and we want a dress for a dance that’s ’appening after a wedding, if it’s not too much trouble to you. Summat I can wear again afterwards, if I’m ever asked out anywhere to wear it.’

The woman bowed her head slightly and walked over towards a rack of clothes hanging on highly polished wooden hangers.

‘That was rude,’ Emma said.

‘Wasn’t she?’ Ruby said, with a giggle. She linked her arm through Emma’s. ‘Only you don’t just mean Miss Uppity over there, do you?’

‘Ssh. She’ll hear you. Come on, we’d better follow.’

Emma and Ruby spent a wonderful hour in Bobby’s. Ruby tried on just about every dress in her size. At last they settled on a sapphire-blue dress with marcasite brooches on the shoulders. And Emma insisted on buying Ruby shoes to match. No hat would be needed because Ruby wasn’t going to St Mary’s Church to see Mr Smythe and Miss Gillet make their vows.

And neither were Emma and Seth. They hadn’t been asked.

‘Thank Seth for me, won’t you?’ Ruby said, when the taxi Emma had hired at the station stopped outside the entrance to Nase Head House. ‘I don’t see ’im much these days.’

Both women got out, and Emma paid the taxi driver.

‘Thank Seth for what?’ Emma said, as the taxi pulled away.

‘’Ave you lost a few brains since you got married, Mrs Jago?’ Ruby laughed. ‘Thank ’im for payin’ for all this.’ Ruby lifted her parcels higher and waggled them all at Emma.

‘Seth hasn’t paid. I have.’

‘Oh,’ Ruby said.

Emma could see that snippet of news had robbed Ruby of her usual flow of speech.

‘Surprised?’

‘Nothin’ you do would surprise me,’ Ruby said. ‘I just can’t imagine ever ’avin’ that sort of money myself.’

‘You could if you wanted to.’

‘Don’t talk wet, Emma Jago! ’Ow in the name of God is the likes of me goin’ to go about earnin’ enough money to buy cars and swank about and pay for stuff like this?’

‘Work for it. For yourself and not someone else.’

‘And you’ve forgotten, Mrs High and Mighty, that you married a man with money. You landed in a bed of roses when you married Seth Jago. ’E’s provided a nice little cushion for you to fall back on if your fancy tarts business don’t work out.’

‘Ruby! That’s not fair!’

Her ‘fancy tarts’ business, as Ruby put it, not work out? The very thought. Of course it would work out.

‘Life ain’t fair, Em,’ Ruby said.

They stood looking at one another for a few moments, as though each were seeing the other in a new light. Ruby looked, Emma thought, rather defiant. As if, should Emma choose to remonstrate with her for being ungrateful for all that had just been bought for her, she’d still argue that Emma had landed in a bed of roses.

Money, and the positions they found themselves in society, were beginning to make cracks in their friendship, and Emma didn’t like it one little bit.

‘No home to go to?’ Olly said.

‘You know I have,’ Seth told him. ‘But I want to get this finished.’

The this in question was the portrait of Emma he was rushing to finish for Valentine’s Day, just two days away now. Rather than risk her seeing it if he worked on it in the house, he’d been painting for an hour or two most days after finishing work for Olly. An hour or two in which he could disappear inside himself and just be him – not a father, not a husband, not an employee.

For the past week he’d been working on the painting every day, for at least two hours at a time. Time in which he could forget he’d been presented with a fait accompli by Emma and Smythe and the fact he’d soon be up at Nase Head House against his will, although he’d go. But if Emma thought he was going to make a habit of being there, then she had another think coming.

‘You’re good,’ Olly said. ‘Not that I’m any sort of expert, you understand.’

‘Thanks.’ Seth continued mixing three different shades together – sienna and burnt umber and a chestnut – trying to get just the right colour of the highlights in Emma’s hair.

‘You could do it for a living,’ Olly said. ‘Must be all that varnishing I got you to do giving you the edge.’ He laughed and clapped Seth heartily on the shoulder.

A globule of paint flicked off the brush in Seth’s hand and landed, mercifully, on the edge of the canvas, where he was able to wipe it off again quickly without damaging the painting.

‘Do you think so?’ Seth said.

The thought had occurred to him. When Seth had been at school the art teacher, Mr Strutt, had urged him to go to art college. There was a place in London, at St Martin’s, where he could go. Mr Strutt had a friend there who was a tutor. He could put in a good word.

Seth’s pa, when he’d told him what Mr Strutt had said, had laughed the idea down and said that no son of his was going to be a pansy artist.

‘Know so,’ Olly said now. ‘Of course, you’d need to starve in your garret for a bit while you made your name. Drink absinthe, maybe? Cut an ear off? Have a naked muse or three draped over a chaise longue? Go—’

‘Oh, shut up!’ Seth laughed.

And the laugh felt good.

He’d done his best to forget the letters thing from Caunter, tried his best – in front of Emma at least – to pretend that it hadn’t happened. But he sensed an uneasiness at times between them. And now more uneasiness coming up with the Smythe wedding waiting in the wings. Emma was getting more excited by the day about what she was going to cook, how she was going to present it, all the possibilities that she was sure were going to open up for after everyone had seen what a good job she’d made of the buffet.

He’d eaten more bûche de Noël than a man could reasonably be expected to eat in a lifetime while she perfected the recipe. He only hoped Smythe would appreciate her efforts and pay Emma well for her services.

‘Better go,’ Olly said. ‘The day nurse’ll be standing by the door with her coat on and her bag in her hand waiting to be relieved of her duties and Ma will be wondering who the hell I am when I serve up her dinner. If she eats it.’

There was a catch in Olly’s voice both men did their best to ignore.

Olly’s ma was getting thinner by the day, more confused by the hour, more frail by the minute. It would be a happy release all round if she went quietly in her sleep, but she seemed to be hanging on – defying all the doctor’s predictions. Sometimes Seth wondered why.

Seth had agreed not to leave the boatyard until either Olly’s ma died, after which Olly could run it with a clear head again, or someone came along to buy it. Canada, for now, was on the proverbial back burner.

But it hadn’t escaped Seth’s notice that the card offering Olly’s business for sale had been taken out of Bettesworth’s window. Not that he was going to mention that to Olly. God no, the man had enough to worry about.

As, Seth thought, do I.

Emma hadn’t become pregnant yet, not even a false alarm. And she wasn’t the only one concerned as to why that might be.