Marrying Mary

by Betty Neels

  ‘I thought you’d never get here,’ said Mrs Cox, no longer the silent and austere housekeeper now that she was thoroughly put out. ‘Your aunt’s real poorly; the doctor’s with her now.’

  ‘If she’s so ill she must go back to hospital or have a nurse here—where’s this doctor?’

  ‘Ah—the niece,’ said a voice gently beside her. There he was—the man she had been thinking of all day and every day, standing a foot from her, smiling. ‘Mrs Winton’s doctor is with her; I thought it best if I were to have a word with you...’ He glanced at Mrs Cox. ‘If we might go somewhere quiet?’

  They were ushered into the drawing-room and Mary sat down on the self-same horsehair chair that she had so happily vacated so short a time ago. She was glad to sit down; she had never believed that nonsense about knees turning to jelly when one was confronted by the loved one, but hers were jelly now.

  ‘Fancy seeing you again,’ she said, and added, ‘That’s a silly thing to say.’ And she blushed because he was smiling again, although he said nothing.

  He stood by the door, watching her, and presently said, ‘Your aunt has had a mild heart attack. Not serious enough for her to return to hospital but she will need to stay quietly at home for a few days. As you may know, the treatment is now quite an active one, but she is old which largely precludes it. If it is difficult for you to stay with her I’m sure Dr Symes will be able to find a nurse from one of the agencies, but I understand from Mrs Winton that you are a very capable young woman, and, of course, a nurse—a private nurse—is a costly expense in these days.’

  I don’t cost a penny, reflected Mary bleakly.

  ‘There will be very little for you to do,’ said the Professor smoothly, watching her expressive face from under heavy lids. ‘See that she takes gentle exercise each day, eats sensibly, doesn’t become agitated...’ Mary gave him a cold look. ‘Yes, I quite understand that Mrs Winton is used to having her own way, but she appears to like you and will probably do what you ask of her.’

  He came and sat down opposite her on another horsehair chair. ‘You are needed at home?’ He sounded casually sympathetic. ‘You live close by?’

  ‘No, no, I don’t; at least, Hampstead isn’t far, but it’s an awkward journey. Besides, there’s no one to see to the house.’

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘You live alone? I gathered from the hospital that Mrs Winton was staying with a nephew—your father?’

  ‘Yes, but Father’s writing a book and my mother paints. My sister’s only thirteen and she’s at school all day. Mrs Blackett could manage for a day or two, but she’s always on the point of leaving.’

  ‘Mrs Blackett?’ prompted the professor gently, greatly enjoying himself.

  ‘Our daily. At least, she comes four mornings a week, but—she didn’t get on well with Great Aunt Thirza.’

  ‘Just so.’ The professor might have been only thirty-five years old, but his manner was that of a man twice his age, seemingly prepared to listen sympathetically and give suitable advice. Mary responded to that; she had plenty of friends of her own age, but it wouldn’t have entered her head to bore them with her worries, but here was a sympathetic ear, and it seemed the most natural thing in the world to unburden herself.

  ‘Mother——’ she began. ‘Mother’s a darling, and so clever with a paintbrush, but of course she’s artistic and she doesn’t really like cooking and that kind of thing; besides, the money she gets for the cards is most useful. And Father’s very clever; he doesn’t notice what’s going on around him. I wouldn’t change them for the world but they simply can’t manage unless someone is there to see to the house. Polly’s splendid, but she’s at school and there’s homework. So you see it is a bit awkward if I have to stay here...’ She added snappily, ‘Not that I’m indispensable...’

  ‘No, no,’ soothed Professor van Rakesma. ‘Of course not, but I see that you have problems. Would it help if you were to go home for a few hours each day? Perhaps while your aunt rests in the afternoons?’

  ‘Have you any idea what the traffic is like between here and Hampstead—the other end of Hampstead?’

  He tucked this useful piece of information away at the back of his mind and said that he had a very good idea. ‘If a nurse were to relieve you for a few hours each day would that help?’ And at her look of surprise he added, ‘I’m sure the National Health Service would be prepared to pay for her; she would cost a lot less than having your aunt in hospital, besides giving us another empty bed. Always in short supply.’

  ‘Would they? Who should I ask?’

  ‘Leave that to me. Now, I think we might join Dr Symes and his patient.’

  Great Aunt Thirza was sitting, propped up by pillows, in a vast mahogany bed; she looked pale and tired and Mary forgot how tiresome the whole thing was and bent to kiss her cheek. ‘I’m sorry, Aunt Thirza, but a few days’ rest and you’ll be as right as rain.’

  ‘So that foreign man tells me. Dr Symes is of no use at all—nice enough, but of course all doctors are fools, and don’t contradict me, miss!’ She caught Mary’s hand. ‘You’ll stay, Mary?’

  ‘Until you are better, yes, Aunt Thirza.’

  Mrs Winton closed her eyes. ‘Then go away and leave me in peace.’

  Mary looked at the two men. Dr Symes nodded to her to go with him, leaving the professor at the bedside. Outside the door he said, ‘She’ll listen to him. Are you sure you can manage? I’ll be in every day and I dare say Professor van Rakesma will visit again. It was a piece of luck that I happened to be on the other phone to him when the housekeeper rang up—said he’d seen her at St Justin’s and asked if he might come and see her. Very civil of him.’

  She agreed, and added sedately, ‘I’m sure it will be a great relief to Aunt Thirza to know that she is being looked after so well. You’ll be here in the morning?’

  ‘After surgery, but phone me if you are worried.’

  They were joined by the professor then, who, beyond wishing her good morning, had nothing further to say before the two men went out to their cars and drove away. She shut the door and went to find Mrs Cox.

  ‘You’re staying, Miss Mary? I told the doctor and I’m telling you that I’m the housekeeper, not the nurse. I’ve enough to do without fetching and carrying all day and half the night.’

  ‘Yes, of course I’ll stay, Mrs Cox. Professor van Rakesma thinks that Mrs Winton will be fully recovered in a short time. I’m sure that it must have been a nasty shock to you when she became ill again. I’ll look after my aunt so please don’t worry; I’m sure that you have enough to do.’

  Mrs Cox bridled. ‘Well, as to that, I’m sure I’m willing to give a hand when necessary—though I won’t be left alone with Mrs Winton.’

  ‘No, no. No one would ask you to do that. I’m sure we’ll manage very well between us. I’ll go and see my aunt now. I dare say she’s tired after being examined.’

  Great Aunt Thirza was asleep. Mary stealthily opened a window, and sat down on a little spoon-back chair and went over her conversation with the professor. He had said that she was to leave things to him, that he would arrange for someone to come each day so that she could go home, but he was a busy man and, however well meant, she doubted if anything would come of that.

  It had been a delightful surprise seeing him again, she reflected, not that he had been over-friendly. Well, she conceded, he’s been kind and helpful, but she rather thought that he would be that to anyone with a problem. She had to admit that he had shown no special interest in her, but then why should he? Probably he was happily married...

  ‘Why are you sitting there?’ demanded Great Aunt Thirza. ‘There’s surely something you can be doing? I don’t approve of idle hands.’

  ‘I was waiting for you to wake up,’ said Mary. ‘Dr Symes wants you to have a warm drink—tea or milk or cocoa?’

  Great Aunt Thirza was feeling cantankerous. ‘I don’t want a drink...’

  Mary got to her feet. ‘I’ll bring you a tray of tea-Earl
Grey—and do you fancy a little fish for your lunch?’

  ‘Fish! Fish? I’m very ill, girl, probably dying...’

  ‘Professor van Rakesma said that you will be up and about in a few days. You’ve had a nasty fright, Aunt Thirza, but there’s no question of your dying. A nice little piece of sole, with a morsel of creamed potato and perhaps a purée of new peas?’

  ‘You may bring it to me,’ said the old lady ungraciously, ‘but I shall most likely be unable to eat it.’

  It seemed a very long day to Mary; her aunt kept her busy, for she was a bad patient, prone to do exactly the opposite to what she was asked to do, so that Mary got into bed quite worn out with hanging on to her patience. She had phoned her mother that evening, and was relieved that everything was going smoothly at home—although Mrs Pagett’s efforts at cooking supper seemed to have been rather chaotic.

  ‘You won’t have to stay there long?’ her mother had asked.

  ‘No, I don’t think so.’ She recounted what the doctor had said but didn’t mention the professor’s offer to find a relief for her each day. It had been a kind thought, she reflected sleepily, but he would have forgotten by now.

  He hadn’t though. Mary was carrying her aunt’s lunch tray downstairs the next day when Mrs Cox admitted an elderly woman in a nurse’s uniform.

  Mary, poised on the bottom tread of the stairs, stared at her. ‘He actually meant it,’ she exclaimed.

  The woman smiled. ‘Indeed he did. Professor van Rakesma seldom says much, but when he does he means it. He has arranged for me to come each day while you are here—two o’clock until half-past five.’

  Mary put down her tray and shook hands. ‘That’s very kind and thoughtful of him—and kind of you too. It’s not interfering with your work? I didn’t realise that the Health Service were so helpful.’

  ‘Well, you must have time to yourself. I’m Maisie Stone.’ She glanced at Mrs Cox, who was standing by the door looking rather sour.

  ‘This is Mrs Cox, my aunt’s housekeeper,’ said Mary hastily. ‘She runs the house beautifully and is such a help.’

  Mrs Cox looked smug. ‘I’m sure I do my best but, as I told Miss Mary here, I won’t do no nursing or lifting or suchlike.’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t expect you to do that,’ said Mrs Stone comfortably. ‘I’m sure we shall get on very well together.’ She turned to Mary. ‘If I might take a look at the patient?’

  Ten minutes later Mary was in the car, driving home. It was an awkward journey, but she had discovered several short cuts and the traffic wasn’t too heavy and it was worth it; her mother was delighted to see her—it wasn’t one of Mrs Blackett’s days and the kitchen needed urgent attention. Mary put on a pinny. ‘If you’ll make us a cup of tea—there’s a cake in the tin on the dresser—I’ll just clear these dishes and saucepans. What had you planned for the evening?’

  ‘There’s that chicken you were going to roast...’

  ‘I’ll casserole it. Then all you’ll have to do is put it in the oven a couple of hours before you want it.’ Mary picked up a teatowel. ‘Mother, supposing I write down what you need to buy each day? Then when I come home I’ll get it ready to cook.’

  ‘Oh, darling, would you? I’ve been so busy I’ve hardly had a moment to do any painting. Perhaps Polly...?’

  ‘Well, no, love, she’s got a lot of prep to do when she gets home, hasn’t she? If you pop down to the shops each morning you’ll have the rest of the day to work—you and Father can have a cold lunch. Is he at home?’

  ‘No. He said he’d be back about five o’clock.’

  Mary hung the teacloth to dry and sat down at the table. ‘So we’ll have tea and decide what to buy tomorrow.’

  ‘Will you be away long?’ asked her mother wistfully. ‘We don’t seem able to get on very well when you’re not here, dear.’

  ‘Not long, and I can come home each afternoon— well, most of them; I don’t know about weekends.’

  But when Sunday came Mrs Stone arrived at her usual hour, and this time the professor was. with her. He took a quick look at Mrs Winton, pronounced her greatly improved, suggested that she could take some exercise each day and, as they went downstairs, observed casually that since he had heard that Mary lived at Hampstead, and he was on his way there, he would give her a lift.

  Mary paused on the bottom tread. ‘Thank you; that’s kind of you to offer but I’ve got our car—I have to get back again, you see.’

  ‘I’m invited to tea with my godson—his parents live near the Heath. I’ll pick you up at around five o’clock and collect Maisie.’

  Even though she was so much in love with him and could hardly bear him out of her sight Mary took a few moments to agree to this. Her heart might be his, but common sense told her that allowing herself to get involved wouldn’t do at all. A prudent refusal was on the tip of her tongue when he said, ‘Well, run along and get your coat and we can be off.’

  He sounded just like the older of her two brothers; besides, if she refused to go she might never see him again...

  She went out to the car with him and he opened the door for her to get in. There was a dog sitting behind the steering-wheel—a Jack Russell, white and black with a whiskered face full of intelligence. He eyed her beadily and the professor said, ‘A friend, Richard,’ and went round to his door and got in.

  Richard moved to sit between them, panting and uttering short happy barks. Mary rubbed his ears and asked, ‘Why Richard? It’s an unusual name for a dog.’

  ‘He has a lion’s heart. Don’t let him crowd you; you like dogs?’

  ‘Yes, but we haven’t got one. We have a cat called Bingo.’

  He began to talk about her aunt then; he sounded exactly like a family doctor, which made him remote so that she couldn’t find the courage to ask him about his work, let alone his personal life. Even though he talked about Mrs Winton it was surprising the amount of information he gleaned from her without giving the least inkling of his own life.

  They were very nearly at her home when she asked shyly, ‘Do you live here in England or go back to Holland?’

  ‘My home is in Holland but I spend a good deal of time here.’ He added lightly, ‘A foot in either camp, as it were.’

  Which left her knowing no more about him than that.

  He stopped before her home and she thanked him with a hand on the door ready to jump out, but he was there before her, holding her door open—something Arthur wouldn’t have dreamt of doing even if she’d had her arms full of parcels. Arthur would have sat behind the wheel and said, ‘So long, old girl.’

  Professor van Rakesma was older and wiser than Arthur, besides the fact that he had nice manners. He opened the gate, glanced at the shabby house with its elaborate gables and said, ‘There must be a splendid view from the back of your home.’

  ‘Oh, there is—the Heath, you know.’

  They stood facing each other, either side of the gate, and he smiled suddenly. ‘I’ll be back around five o’clock, Miss Pagett.’

  She went up the overgrown drive to the front door and turned round to look when she reached it. He was still there, and she wondered uneasily if he had expected to be asked in. He had said that he was going to have tea with his godson ... She opened the door and went inside.

  Polly came into the hall to meet her. ‘Mary, I haven’t seen you for days. Mother’s in the hut and Father’s in the study. I cooked most of the lunch. Can you stay for tea? I made some rock cakes.’

  ‘Lovely, Polly, and I can stay for tea, but I have to be ready to leave at five o’clock.’ She went on with a slightly heightened colour, ’I have a lift here and back.’

  ‘Not Arthur?’

  ‘Heavens, no. What I mean is, I don’t think he knows I’m at Aunt Thirza’s house.’

  ‘Then who?’

  ‘Professor van Rakesma brought Mrs Stone, who relieves me each day, and since he was visiting someone in Hampstead he said he’d bring me home and drive me back.’

  �
�What’s he like? I know you said he had ginger hair and blue eyes but is he nice?’

  ‘Very nice.’

  ‘Is he married?’

  ‘I really don’t know. He’s—he’s not a man to talk about himself, I think.’

  ‘Well, then, he’s a nice change from Arthur,’ observed Polly. ‘It would be nice if he fell in love with you and married you, and that would be one in the eye for Arthur.’

  ‘Arthur is a good, steady man,’ said Mary as they went into the kitchen and began to gather things ready for tea.

  ‘Oh, pooh,’ said Polly. ‘Can you imagine what he’ll be like in ten years’ time?’

  Mary knew exactly what she meant.

  On Sundays, when they were all at home, they had tea in the drawing-room—a large, lofty-ceilinged place and very draughty since the old-fashioned windows were ill-fitting and allowed the air to seep in round their frames. In winter, of course, the door was shut and no one went near the place; it would have cost a fortune to light a fire large enough to warm the room and there was a damp patch in one corner which dried out during the summer and reappeared each autumn.

  Today was dry and warm, however, and the room, though shabby and on the chilly side, was pleasant enough; the chairs were elderly but comfortable and Mary and Mrs Blackett kept the tables and cabinets polished. They laid the tea things on a table by the big bay window at the back of the room and Mary cut sandwiches while Polly cut the cake and boiled the kettle.

  As Mary sliced and spread she allowed her thoughts to wander. Professor van Rakesma was probably at that very moment eating his tea somewhere in Hampstead. It would be a more elegant meal than she was preparing, of course—good china and silver teaspoons and cake-stands. He must be glad to get away from the hospital, which was jammed tight among narrow, busy city streets. Would he live there? she wondered, and dismissed the idea. Consultants would only be at the hospital at certain times; he must have a flat ...

  ‘Mary.’ Polly had raised her voice. ‘I’ve been talking to you for ages and you haven’t heard a word. Are you in love? You look quite moony.’