Esmeralda. Betty Neels
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when she first met them, which was fairly true but a little disturbing, for she had wanted everyone to like him. She frowned as she got into the little fourposter bed she had slept in all her life; she wasn’t quite sure about her mother either. Her parent had been just as she always was, a delightful hostess, a pretty, middle-aged woman, thoughtful for her guest, prepared to entertain and be entertained, and yet there had been something… Esmeralda rearranged her pillows and frowned heavily in the dark.
It had been a pity that Leslie had made that remark about the silver in the display cabinet—lovely old stuff, worth a fortune, he had said, and although Esmeralda had seen no change in her mother’s expression, she knew quite well that that lady was displeased, and he had made it worse by asking how many servants there were and if the house cost a lot to run. Her mother had answered him lightly without telling him anything at all, and turned the conversation with practised ease to himself and his work. He had made no secret of his ambition, and Esmeralda, defending him, saw nothing wrong in that—young surgeons who wanted to get on early in life, needed ambition to keep them going—only he had rather harped upon money, and she, fortunate to have been brought up in a home where money had been plentiful, and taught from her youth to be glad of it but never to boast of its possession, didn’t quite understand his preoccupation with it. Her father, when he had been alive, had pointed out to her that having money, while pleasant, was by no means necessary for happiness. Leslie seemed to think that it was. She went to sleep thinking about it and woke in the morning with the thought still uppermost in her mind.
It was a gorgeous morning again. Esmeralda dragged on her dressing gown, stuck her feet into slippers and went along to her mother’s room with the intention of sharing morning tea, a little habit they had formed after her father’s death. Once curled up on the foot of her mother’s bed, sipping her tea, Esmeralda plunged into the subject uppermost in her mind.
‘Do you like Leslie, Mother?’ She leaned across and took a biscuit.
Her parent eyed her fondly. ‘He’s a very attractive man, darling, and I’m sure he’s clever—he should go far in his profession. Is he sweet on you?’
‘Mother, how old-fashioned that sounds! I don’t know—would you mind if he were?’ She didn’t give Mrs Jones time to reply but went on eagerly: ‘You see, he doesn’t mind about my foot, and if I had it put right…’
‘Yes, dear, we must have a little talk about that—there wasn’t much opportunity last night, was there? You’ve decided to have something done?’
‘Do you think I should? It was all rather unexpected and I don’t want to be rushed into anything—only this Mr Bamstra…’
‘Such a nice man,’ interpolated her mother unexpectedly.
‘Mother, you don’t know him? How could you—you’ve never met.’ Esmeralda turned bewildered green eyes on her mother’s unconcerned face.
‘I met him on Thursday; he came to see me about you—to explain about…no, dear, don’t interrupt. I think it was very nice of him. Not every mother likes the idea of her daughter going off to another country, even if it is for an operation by an eminent surgeon.’ She smiled suddenly. ‘Pass your cup, love.’
She poured more tea while her daughter held her impatience in check. ‘I like him,’ said Mrs Jones at length, ‘and so did Nanny; she gave him some of her cowslip wine, and you know what that means—what’s more, he drank it like a man and complimented her on it in a nice sincere way, nothing fulsome.’ She popped a lump of sugar into her mouth and crunched it. ‘Nanny says he’s Mr Right.’
‘Mother!’ exploded Esmeralda. ‘He’s years older—at least, I suppose he is—he must be married and have a horde of children. Besides, there’s Leslie.’
‘Yes, dear, that’s what I told Nanny just now when she brought me my tea. What would you both like to do today? You don’t need to go back to Trent’s until tomorrow evening, do you?’ She passed the rest of the biscuits to her daughter. ‘What does Leslie think of this operation?’
‘He isn’t very keen—well, he wasn’t at first. He doesn’t like Mr Bamstra, although yesterday he said it might be a good idea…’
‘A doctor’s wife—a successful doctor’s wife—would have a certain number of social duties,’ mused her astute parent, ‘naturally, it would be very much to your—and his—advantage if you had two pretty feet.’ She paused. ‘Do I sound heartless and flippant, darling? You know I’m not—if I could ever have that foot of yours, I would; I’ve never ceased to regret…”
Esmeralda bounced across the bed and put her arms round her mother’s shoulders. ‘Mother darling, you’ve always been a brick about it. If it hadn’t been for you being so sane about it, I should have been a neurotic old maid by now. It was you who showed me how to live with it, and I do, you know—only now, with Leslie… I’d like to take a chance.’
‘It won’t be a chance; not with that nice man, it’ll be a certainty.’
Esmeralda had thought vaguely that they might ride over the forest during the morning. She rode well herself—everyone did in that part of the country, although she didn’t hunt; she had too much sympathy for the fox, but ambling around on her mare Daisy was something she enjoyed, and it surprised her, when she broached the subject at breakfast, to discover that Leslie didn’t ride; what was more, he didn’t like horses. She had noticed the previous evening that he had repelled the advances of Maudie and Bert, the elderly labradors, but she had excused him then on the grounds of him not knowing them, but now it was apparent that he didn’t like animals very much. She suggested a walk instead and was instantly sorry, for he said at once in a concerned voice: ‘Oh, my dear, no—not with that foot of yours.’
Nanny had been passing as she spoke and she had uttered the small tutting sound which Esmeralda remembered so well as a sign of her disapproval. She had given Nanny a green stare of anger; couldn’t she see that Leslie was concerned for her comfort? She agreed readily enough after that to go in his car to Ringwood, where they wandered round the shops amongst the holidaymakers, an exercise far more tiring to her crippled foot than a morning’s stroll in the forest. It was fortunate that after lunch Mrs Jones should suggest that they might go over to some friends a few miles away and swim in their pool. ‘They told me to bring you over the next time you were home,’ she declared, ‘and it’s a heavenly day. I’ll take my car, shall I? I know the way.’
The friends lived in a Victorian villa of great size and ugliness but with plenty of ground around it. The pool was at the back of the house and already the younger members of the family were in it or lying around in long chairs at its edge. Swimming trunks were found for Leslie, and Esmeralda went off to change.
She knew everyone there; most of them since she had been a small girl. She dived neatly off the side and swam a length or two before going to the side to call Leslie. ‘It’s heavenly,’ she cried, ‘come on in!’ And she swam off again, as smoothly as a seal, happily aware that however much she was hampered on dry land, in the water she was just about as good as she could be, so that his look of surprised admiration made her glow with happiness. The glow faded a little when she got out of the water and went to sit with the rest of them; no one took any notice of the grotesque little foot stretched out on the grass, no one save Leslie, who gave it a quick, furtive glance and looked away again, and then, as though fascinated, looked again. But his manner towards her didn’t change; he was still charming and just a little possessive and full of praise for her swimming; the glow started up again, so that her lovely eyes sparkled and her cheeks pinkened, and when they went back home after tea she told her mother, quite truthfully, that she hadn’t enjoyed herself so much for years.
She changed into one of the pretty dresses hanging in the fitted cupboard in her room and went along to her mother’s room once more, to perch on the bed and watch that lady do her face.
‘Mother, what did Mr Bamstra say?’ she asked at length.
Her mother laid down her lipstick and turned to look at her. ‘He told me exactly what he was going to