The Trouble With Emma. Katie Oliver

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ is it, Emma?” her father asked, and pulled up the chair next to hers. “What’s bothering you?”

      “Money. We haven’t enough.” She met his eyes. “With Charlotte’s tuition, and now the expenses required for Lizzy’s welcome home party, not to mention the cost of groceries, and utilities, and the constant repairs to this – this rackety old house…”

      He waved her concerns aside. “We’ll manage. We always do. Charli finishes sixth form this year, and then our expenses will go down considerably. And we’ll make an effort to keep Lizzy’s homecoming party small and simple. Martine and I can do most of the baking ourselves.”

      “We can’t afford Martine.” Emma’s words were decided. “You know we can’t. And nor do we need her here. I can manage the grocery shop and the cooking and cleaning on my own.”

      “I know you can. You have done, and very well.” His hand came to rest over hers. “But surely you have better things to do with your time. And Martine needs this job, Emma. Her mother can’t work full-time any longer, and with her father’s death, Martine’s pay packet is desperately needed.”

      “I know all that, daddy,” she said, a touch of impatience in her voice. “But working for us three days a week? It can’t go very far in the way of providing income. Martine can find a job somewhere else easily enough – at the bakery, for instance. Boz is hiring.”

      “Yes, he is, but the sign says the position’s part-time. A well-paying, full-time job with benefits is hard to come by in Litchfield just now, and even more so in Longbourne. All of the summer positions are filled. And I know of no jobs that provide their employees with gently used clothing and shoes, or–” He glanced at the tabletop with a slight smile. “Or an apple pie to take home to share with their mother.”

      “I understand that.” Emma pressed her lips into a thin, stubborn line. “I do. But we barely have enough money ourselves to make ends meet! We’re hardly in a position to help someone else.”

      “What would the world be like if everyone took your view?” he chided, and withdrew his hand. “We draw our belts a bit tighter, Emma. We have roast beef once a month instead of once a week. We economise.”

      “I’m sick to death of economising! I’m tired of doing without, making do, scrimping and saving, when Lizzy–” She stopped.

      He regarded her in surprise. “When Lizzy what?”

      How to explain? How to tell him, how to admit, that she had begun to resent her sister’s good fortune in marrying Mr Darcy? While she and her father and sister lived in a house that leaked and ate roast beef infrequently and veg from dented tins, Elizabeth would one day reside in Cleremont, the Darcys’ imposing, 150-room stately home, and live in a style that Emma could only imagine.

      Lizzy need no longer concern herself with buying her clothing from the sale racks, or chucking banged-up tins of green beans and tomatoes into the trolley to save a few pennies.

      For that matter, Lizzy need never go grocery shopping again.

      “I’m happy for my sister,” Emma said, carefully. “Of course I am. But I’m weary of pinching pennies and struggling to make one end meet the other. I’m sick to death of minced beef and mash, and day-old bread. I feel as if I’ll die here, sitting at this table with a crossword puzzle in front of me, planning out the week’s menus with the bits and bobs left over from the week before. I’ll never see the world beyond Litchfield.” Tears threatened, stung momentarily, receded. “I’ll never find happiness the way Lizzy has.”

      “No, you won’t find happiness,” her father agreed, his words gentle but firm, “unless you go out and look for it. You’ll not find a job or meet an eligible suitor or swim the English Channel sitting here in this house with me day after day.”

      “Then what am I to do?”

      “You need to find something worthwhile to occupy your time, Emma. A job, volunteer work, signing up for the church flower rota –”

      “No, thank you.” She shuddered. “Mrs Cusack would drive me mad inside of five minutes with her gossip and innuendo. And I’d make a poor volunteer, as I can’t do much of anything useful.”

      “Then what you need is a job.” Mr Bennet regarded her with a thoughtful expression. “You mentioned that Mr Weston is hiring at the bakery. What about that?”

      “Me?” Emma raised her brows. “To start with, I know nothing about baking. Nor do I share your fondness for it. Although,” she admitted, “Boz needs someone to mind the till, and parcel up the doughnuts and cakes and cookies for customers, nothing more. And it’s only on the Tuesday and Thursday.”

      “It sounds perfect. Why don’t you try it, and see how it goes?”

      She hesitated. “I’d get a discount.” Her glance went to the white box she’d left on the counter. “And free cookies or cake whenever I take a fancy.”

      Mr Bennet rubbed his hands together. “Then you certainly must take the job. You know how much I love Boz’s cream horns.”

      Emma smiled. “I do, and so does Boz. He sent you half a dozen with his regards.” She indicated the box neatly tied with string, and stood. “I’ll go and talk to him first thing tomorrow and tell him I’ll take the job.”

      “Excellent! I think that’s a very wise move on your part. I want you to be happy, and I think perhaps a job will go a long way towards making you feel useful again.”

      “Thank you, daddy.” She bent down and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, breathing in the floury, sugary scent of his skin with affection. “I love you.”

      “And I love you, my dearest Emma.” He reached up to squeeze her hand. “Always.”

      “Just remember,” she added, “that charity begins at home.” She went to fetch the bakery box and set it on the table. “Have one or two, but give the rest to Martine. You’ll do a good turn for her…and for your waistline. Otherwise, you’ll be loosening your belt instead of tightening it.”

      “Cheeky girl.” He tugged at the string without success. “And your comments are duly noted. Now, be an angel, won’t you, and hand me the scissors before you go?”

Chapter 5

      “Isn’t he just the cutest thing?”

      Emma, who’d been startled awake from her Saturday morning lie-in when a cold nose nudged her hand, regarded her sister Charlotte and the Chinese pug nestled now against her chest with a noted lack of enthusiasm.

      “You’ll pardon me if I reserve judgment,” she retorted, and went to fetch the kitchen roll to clean up the tiny puddle of dog wee on the floor.

      “He’s house-trained,” Charli assured her. “He’s just over-excited, aren’t you, Mr Elton?”

      Emma paused, clutching a wodge of dripping paper towels in hand, and stared at her. “Mr Elton? You can’t be serious. That’s the most ridiculous name for a dog I’ve ever heard.”

      “No, it isn’t. He looks СКАЧАТЬ