Emerald’s mouth compressed. How typical of Rose to have brought her somewhere like this. No doubt it had amused her to abandon her here. Emerald’s vision suddenly blurred.
‘Here, you’ve dropped this,’ the orderly told her, handing her Rose’s jacket.
The denim felt unfamiliar beneath her touch. Emerald wouldn’t dream of wearing something like that. She started to release it–to reject it–and then for some reason instead she tightened her hold on it and gripped it, lifting it towards her face. It smelled of Rose herself and the light floral scent she always wore. There was a tight painful ache at the back of Emerald’s throat, that brought more tears into her eyes.
Crying? Her? For Rose, whom she loathed and despised?
Rose had almost reached Cheyne Walk when she stopped and turned round, mentally deriding herself for every yard she drove back to the hospital, as she listed all the reasons why there was no need or point in her doing what she was now doing.
The first thing Rose saw when she reached the casualty department door was Emerald, sitting in a wheelchair, tears in her eyes and clutching Rose’s own denim jacket like a child holding a comforter.
Emerald hadn’t seen her and instinctively Rose stepped back into the shadows. Her heart was pounding heavily and unsteadily. She wanted to turn and leave–run away from what she had seen and the demands having seen it imposed on her. She had every reason still to dislike and resent Emerald. There was a tight ball of unwanted emotion squeezing her throat.
Damn, damn, damn, she swore under her breath but she still stepped forward, swinging inside with enough noise to make sure Emerald saw her and could compose herself.
Rose had come back? Emerald’s fingers tightened around the denim, whilst the orderly greeted Rose’s return with obvious relief, announcing, ‘I’ll leave ‘er wiv yer now ’cos it’s time I went off duty.’
He’d gone before either of them could object.
‘I suppose you’ve come back for this,’ Emerald told Rose, throwing the denim jacket towards her with contemptuous disdain.
‘No,’ Rose told her equably, scooping up the jacket, ‘that isn’t why I came back. Has anyone seen you yet?’ she asked without giving Emerald the chance to launch another salvo.
‘No. And I don’t need to see anyone. I’m perfectly all right.’
Rose arched an eyebrow and opened the plain black leather Hermès Kelly bag she had treated herself to with her first commission cheque because she had loved it and because it was large enough to hold her writing pad, pens and pencils, and a tape measure. Riffling in it, she found her compact, which she handed to Emerald without a word.
Emerald opened it and looked at her own reflection, aghast. Her lip was swollen and crusted with dried blood. Her cheekbone was swollen and shiny, and there was matted blood in her hair from the cut on the side of her face.
‘Well, I feel all right,’ she told Rose, but shakily.
To Rose’s relief a nurse came bustling up. She sized them both up with what was obviously an experienced eye, looking from Emerald to Rose, and then asking Rose, ‘Name?’
Rose knew exactly what was meant by Emerald’s indrawn breath. Emerald was a well-known socialite whose name would be recognised even if right now her face couldn’t be.
Stepping forward, Rose said firmly, ‘It’s Em-Emma. Emma Pickford.’
The dark gaze studied Rose again. Because of the way she looked? Because of the way she spoke? Probably the combination of both, Rose thought.
‘Address?’
Quietly, Rose gave the nurse the address of the Cheyne Walk house.
‘Friends, are you?’ the nurse asked.
‘We’re cousins,’ Rose told her, earning herself another swiftly assessing look. She knew what she was thinking–how would they be related?
‘So I’ll put you down as next of kin then, shall I?’
This time it was Emerald who answered her saying, quickly, ‘Yes, please.’
‘Yo u r name then?’ the nurse asked Rose.
‘Rose. Rose Pickford.’
‘So what happened then?’
They looked at one another, and then quickly, before she could change her mind, Rose fibbed, ‘We were at a party. We went with some friends–I can’t really remember where it was. There were lots of people there, and as we were leaving Em-Emma…I fell down the stairs.’