âYet I fancy you must have had your chances to marry before now?â said Justin.
âYes, but only twice, and one was a middle-aged widower.â
âIâm middle-aged, Emma, and I may be a widower.â
Emma said instantly, âNoâyouâre not, are you?â She tried to see his face, but the moonlight played tricks; his eyes gleamed, whether with amusement or anger she didnât know.
âAnd would it make any difference if I were, Emma?â
She gave up trying to read his expression and stared out of the window instead. After a moment or two she said with perfect truth, âNone at all,â and, all the same, was extravagantly relieved when he replied:
âWell, Iâm not. As I said, I have waited patiently and I think the years of waiting will be worthwhile.â
MISS EMMA HASTINGS closed her eyes and a shudder ran through her nicely curved person; she opened them again almost immediately, hoping, rather after the manner of a small child, that what she didnât wish to see would be gone. Of course it wasnât. The Rolls-Royce Cornische convertible still gleamed blackly within a yard or so of her appalled gaze. In other, happier circumstances she would have been delighted to have had the opportunity of viewing its magnificence at such close quarters, but now, at this moment, she could only wish it on the other side of the world, not here within inches of her, with the bumper of her humble Ford Popular, third hand, locked with the pristine beauty of the Rollsâ own single bumper.
Its driver was getting out and Emma made haste to do the same, quite forgetting that the Fordâs door handle on her side could be temperamental and had taken that moment to jam while she was fiddling with it. As she tugged and pushed she had plenty of time to observe the man strolling towards them. As magnificent as his car, she thought, eyeing his height and breadth of shoulder, and her heart sank as she saw his hair, for it was a dark, rich copper, and redheaded people were notoriously nasty-tempered. Her mother apparently thought otherwise, for she said softly, âOh, Emma, what a remarkably handsome man!â and Emma, cross because she couldnât get out, began tartly, âOh, Motherâ¦â and went on silently fighting the door, which, to make matters worse, yielded instantly under the manâs hand.
She got out then, all five foot three of her, feeling a little better because she was face to face with him even though her eyes were on a level with his tie. She studied its rich silkiness for a long moment and then lifted her gaze to his face. His eyes, she noticed with something of a shock were green, unexpectedly cool. Probably he was furious; she said quickly in her pleasant voice, âIâm sorry, but I donât speak Dutchâit was my fault,â and smiled with relief when he answered her in English.
âYou were on the wrong side of the road.â He spoke curtly, but Emma was so relieved to hear her own tongue that she hardly noticed it and went on, âIâm so glad youâre English,â and when he gave her a sudden sharp look and barked âWhy?â at her, she explained cheerfully:
âWell, the Dutch are awfully nice, but theyâre not veryâvery lightheartedâ¦â
He laughed nastily. âIndeed? Am I supposed to be lighthearted because I have been run into by a careless girl who has probably damaged my car? You are an appalling driver.â
âIâm not,â said Emma with spirit, âIâm quite good, only they drive on the wrong side of the road and when I turned the corner I forgotâonly for a moment.â She returned the icy stare from the green eyes with a cool one from her own hazel ones and added with dignity:
âOf course, I will pay for any damage.â Her heart sank as she said it; Rolls-Royces were expensive cars, doubtless their repairs cost a good deal more than the lesser fry of the motoring world. She blinked at the unpalatable thought that she would probably be footing the billâin instalmentsâfor months ahead and ventured uncertainly:
âPerhaps the damage isnât too bad.â