Emma by Rosie Clarke Page B

I smiled slightly. ‘Paul will know – if you tell him.’
    I turned and walked away, head high, knowing that she was disconcerted. She
had
mistaken me for someone else but it made no difference. I could not think my reception would have been any warmer if Mrs Greenslade had known the truth.

Chapter Six
    Pride kept me going until I was out of sight of the house, then the awfulness of it hit me and I gasped, feeling as if someone had punched me in the stomach. Paul wasn’t going to marry me. He had never had any intention of doing so … all his sweet talk and promises had simply been for one thing.
    I could hear Father’s voice in my head, ranting on about the kind of girl who dropped her knickers for the price of a few drinks or a cheap present.
    ‘Girls like that deserve all they get.’ He had said it over and over again in my hearing. ‘Cheap little whores, that’s what they are. Fools! No man respects a girl who lets him do what he wants just like that.’
    Tears stung my eyes, flowing over and running down my cheeks. I was powerless to stop them. I felt sick and dizzy – cheap! Paul must have thought I was easy. I had never tried to hide the fact that I wanted to go out with him, wanted him to kiss me. I had returned his kisses with all the natural warmth and loving in my heart, believing that he loved me.
    ‘Oh, Paul,’ I wept bitterly, stopping to lean against the trunk of a tree as a storm of emotion swept over me. ‘Paul … Oh, Paul … how could you? How could you do this to me?’
    My heart felt as if it were being torn apart. I wanted to lay down where I stood and die. What was the point in living when Paul didn’t love me, had used me, deserted me? Even my fear of discovery had faded into insignificance besides my grief. I loved Paul … loved him so much. How was I going to bear this?
    I leaned my head against the tree trunk, covering my face with both hands. I was consumed with grief, uncaring of what happened to me now, wanting only to die of the pain.
    ‘Hey … something the matter?’
    The man’s voice made me glance up. I knew him at once. It was Paul’s cousin. He had a couple of golden retrievers running at his heels and had obviously returned from walking them across the fields.
    ‘No. I have to go!’
    I turned away and started walking very fast. I had to get away. It was all too much. I couldn’t bear any more! My eyes were blinded by tears and I didn’t realize I had turned the wrong way, was walking in the opposite direction I needed to take for the town and railway station.
    ‘Hang on … No, Rufus! Go back.’ I could hear footsteps as the man ran after me. ‘Miss … Miss Robinson! Please wait. Please!’
    I kept on walking. The last thing I wanted was another confrontation with a member of Paul’s family. I blinked hard, feeling for my handkerchief and discovering I hadn’t got one.
    ‘Here – take mine.’ He had caught up with me and thrust his large, white handkerchief under my nose. ‘Stop a minute. You’re upset. You can’t leave like this. What happened to make you cry like that? Did you come to see Paul?’
    At the mention of Paul’s name I stopped and swung round to face him. He stared at me for a moment, concern in his eyes, then reached out to wipe the tears from my cheeks with his handkerchief. I swallowed hard and took it from him, finishing the job and blowing my nose.
    ‘Keep it,’ he said as I hesitated over returning it. ‘Please let me help you. How did you come here?’
    ‘By train and taxi. I have to get back—’
    ‘You’re going the wrong way.’ He smiled in a gentle, helpful way. ‘Look, there’s a small hotel just up the road where they serve teas in the afternoon. Why don’t you let me buy you some tea? You need to sit down for a while – and if you tell me what’s wrong I might be able to help.’
    My first instinct was to refuse. At that moment I just wanted to run away and hide, but the practical side of my nature warned