by Betty Neels
‘Someone collecting for the church?’ hazarded Mary. ‘Where is my purse?’
Pleane and Ilsa stood in the hall and she was instantly vexed that she was in an elderly cotton dress with the sleeves rolled up, and, worse, her hair lay in a thick plait over one shoulder.
Pleane didn’t appear to notice; she went to meet her with a wide grin. ‘I know we’re a nuisance, but I did want to say goodbye once more. We’re off early tomorrow—everything’s packed...’ She looked down at her elegant person. ‘That’s why we are all dressed up.’
‘Will you have a cup of coffee?’ asked Mary, and Ilsa answered before Pleane could speak.
‘How kind, but we wouldn’t dream of interrupting your housework—the taxi is outside waiting. We have to go to Fortnum & Mason for my mother’s special brand of tea; we can have coffee there.’
Mary spent a moment wondering if Ilsa’s mother was as unpleasant as her daughter. ‘A long way just to get some tea...’
‘Ah, but we usually have it sent, you know. But since I am here it seemed a good idea to get it and take it back with me. Pleane, are you coming?’
Pleane had an expression on her face which reminded Mary of her brother—a bland look which gave nothing away. ‘I am just going to see Mrs Pagett—I didn’t say goodbye to her properly.’ She smiled at Mary. ‘Is she in the shed?’
‘Yes, but I’m sure she’d love to see you again. Would you like to go too, Ilsa?’
‘No, no. I’ll wait in the taxi.’ She watched Pleane go through the drawing-room doors into the garden and then turned to look at Mary; the look started at her bare feet in their shabby sandals and moved slowly up to her face. She smiled then, but her eyes were like blue glass. ‘Walk down to the gate with me if you can spare the time; I’m sure Pleane won’t be long.’
So they walked down the short, neglected drive, Ilsa stepping carefully in her high-heeled shoes. Mary chocked back a wish for her to trip up and fall flat on her face, dislodging the elegant hat and dirtying the deceptively simple outfit she was wearing, but of course she didn’t.
It wasn’t until they reached the open gate that she spoke. ‘We must come and see you again,’ she said. ‘I shall be back very shortly; there is so much to do—the flat needs new covers and curtains and I shall change the colour scheme. I must persuade Roel to get rid of Fred too; I was telling your mother—a good housekeeper and a daily woman must take over.’ She laughed a little. ‘Men are so useless at that kind of thing, aren’t they? Or perhaps you wouldn’t know.’
Mary was leaning on the gate; her plait had fallen over her shoulder and half hid her face. She said, ‘No, I wouldn’t know. You’re going to make rather drastic changes, are you not?’
‘Very drastic—and not just in the flat. I shall see to it that Roel’s life is changed too. A social life is so important.’
‘You’re going to be married?’ Mary managed to ask the question lightly.
‘My dear girl, isn’t it obvious?’
‘No...’
‘Well, of course, if one is influenced by one’s feelings, even when they are mistaken...’
Mary turned her lovely brown eyes on Ilsa’s smiling face. ‘I’m glad we shan’t meet again,’ she said clearly. ‘Here’s Pleane.’ She turned her back on Ilsa and went to meet the other girl.
‘Your mother is a darling—almost as nice as mine, Mary. Ilsa, you look as though you’re sucking a lemon; it makes you look quite old.’
She kissed Mary and went out to the taxi and Ilsa, without speaking again, followed her.
Back in the kitchen Mary added boiling water to the teapot and sat down at the table.
‘Well?’ said Mrs Blackett, all agog. ‘Oo was it, then?’
‘The doctor who looked after Great Aunt Thirza—it was his sister. And the lady with her says she is going to marry him.’
‘Oh, yes? There’s many a slip, I always say. That was the tall one with the made-up face? Can’t say I took a liking for ’er.’
‘Neither did I. She was going to Fortnum & Mason to order a special brand of tea for her mother.’
Mrs Blackett gave a guffaw. ‘Very la-di-da, and what’s wrong with teabags, I’d like to know?’ She took her mug to the sink. ‘I’ll go and give that. dining-room table a bit of a polish before I clean up ’ere.’
Mary drank her tea, made a cup of coffee for her mother and went down to the shed.
‘That nice girl came to see me,’ observed the older woman happily. ‘Such a chatterbox too...’
‘Mother,’ said Mary, ‘did Ilsa tell you that she was going to marry Professor van Rakesma?’
‘Ah, she was here too, was she? As a matter of fact, not in so many words but as good as, if you see what I mean. All that talk about changing his home and getting rid of someone called Fred—his manservant, presumably. She’ll make him a bad wife; the man must be out of his mind.’
Mary said tartly, ‘Presumably at his age he knows his own mind well enough.’
‘Yes, that’s why I’m rather surprised. He didn’t behave as though he loved her, did he? His manners are so good it was hard to tell. He’s not one to wear his heart on his sleeve, is he?’
‘I have no idea, Mother.’
‘You sound as though you don’t like him, love.’
‘I don’t know him well enough to say one way or the other. I hope he’ll be happy with Ilsa.’
Two fibs in one breath.
Mrs Pagett murmured, ‘Of course, dear. What a delicious cup of coffee.’
Professor van Rakesma had rearranged his visits and consultations so that he could see his sister and Ilsa on to their early morning plane. He was going out of his door with Richard for their morning walk when Pleane came racing downstairs. ‘I’m coming with you,’ she told him, and slipped a hand under his arm. ‘I want to talk.’
He looked down at her with affection. ‘Do you ever want to do anything else? What have you done now? Fallen in love again?’
‘No, no, it’s not me this time—it’s you. You and Ilsa’
‘And what about us? Something I should know?’
He was half laughing and she said quickly, ‘No, don’t laugh. Do you like her very much, Roel?’ And at his quick frown she said, ‘No, don’t be cross—and I’m serious. Don’t tell me it’s none of my business.’
‘Very well, I won’t. Have you quarrelled with her, liefje?’
‘No. I never liked her very much, you know, but she comes to see us a lot and says she’s our oldest friend—that kind of thing—and she bosses me around. But it’s not that. She’s going to marry you—did you know?’
‘I have sometimes wondered if she had that in mind.’
‘Don’t, will you? She’s all wrong for you, Roel. You need a wife like Mary Pagett, who’ll stand up to you and not waste your money, and will have hordes of children for you.’
He squeezed her hand and said kindly, ‘Pleane, Mary and I are almost always at daggers drawn...’
‘Except when you want someone to help you—like when you came looking for me.’
“That was the exception which proves the rule. No, my dear, I’m afraid that wouldn’t be a very good idea. But if it will relieve your mind I promise you that I don’t intend to marry Ilsa; indeed I have no plans to marry at the moment.’
With that Pleane had to be content; if Roel said he wasn’t going to marry Ilsa then everything was all right; he was a man of his word.
She would have been relieved if she had known that he had been shocked at lisa’s light-hearted attitude to Pleane’s escapade. Until then he hadn’t realised how selfish she was, and bow uncaring of things which touched on her comfort or peace of mind. Any ideas of marrying her which he had been harbouring at the back of his mind had been swept away.
He stayed with them until it was time for them to board their plane, bade them goodbye, gave Pleane a final hug, and then drove himself back to his home.
‘Got half an hour?’ asked Fred, coming into the hall, duster in hand. ‘
I’ve a pot of coffee all ready for you.’
‘Splendid, Fred. I’d like it now—I’ll be in the study.’
Fred came in presently, poured the coffee and stood waiting by the desk.
Professor van Rakesma looked up from the notes he was studying. ‘Fred?’
‘It’s like this, sir. Mrs van Hoeven told me that she won’t want me no more when she comes; so what’s me and Syl going to do?’
The professor sat back in his chair. ‘As far as I know, Fred, Mrs van Hoeven won’t be coming here again; perhaps there has been some misunderstanding, for we are certainly not going to marry.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘And, when I do marry, I can promise you that you and Syl will stay with us for as long as you wish to—and I hope that will be for a very long time.’
‘Thank you, sir. It had us a bit worried.’
It had the professor a bit worried too; he had never, to the best of his knowledge, led Ilsa to believe that he intended to marry her, although he knew that if he had done so she would have accepted at once. He would have to make it plain to her next time they met. If he could find someone whom he would want for his wife it would make things so much easier...
Mary’s face flashed beneath his lids and he dismissed it at once; they struck sparks off each other whenever they met and she made no bones about her indifference to him. But then, of course, he reminded himself, he was indifferent to her too.
He returned to his case-notes and forgot about her, for the time being at least.
He didn’t get home again until the early evening. He had had several private patients to see at his rooms in Harley Street, and from there he had gone straight to the hospital to do a ward round. The man he had been called to see on the day of Pleane and Ilsa’s arrival was getting on well, and he pondered the idea of offering him the job of caretaker at his cottage at Adlescombe.
The man had no family and no friends and, being homeless, had been unable to get a job for lack of references and an address. He could take him on for a month and see if he was suitable. He was a quiet man, who had seen better days and would never be fit for heavy work again, but there was little to do at the cottage.
He was still thinking about it when Pleane phoned to say that they were home again and to thank him for her holiday. ‘And all those lovely clothes.’ She added, ‘Ilsa went home; she said she’d phone you from there.’
Ilsa did ring later that evening, but it was Fred who answered her, to tell her with well-concealed satisfaction that Professor van Rakesma had been called back to the hospital to an emergency and he had no idea when he would be back.
She hung up without leaving a message and Fred went back to the kitchen to tell Richard that she wasn’t half put out. ‘You didn’t like her, neither,’ said Fred. ‘Doesn’t like dogs nor cats. I don’t call that natural.’ Richard, an intelligent beast, didn’t call it natural either.
Mary attacked the housework with even more vigour than usual after her conversation with Ilsa; she refused to admit, even to herself, that the idea of never seeing the professor again made her feel quite ill, and as for his marrying Ilsa... Her mind boggled at the very idea.
‘A pity I shall not be seeing him again,’ she told Bingo—a sentiment, if she had but known it, which was shared by Professor van Rakesma, albeit reluctantly.
She welcomed her return to the bookshop on Thursday. A change of scene, she told herself, would soon put things in their proper perspective. And certainly she was busy enough to preclude any sitting about being sorry for herself.
It was going on for six o’clock on Saturday afternoon when he came into the shop. It was already crowded, and his bulk meant that everyone was standing almost shoulder to shoulder. Mary, wreathing her substantial person through the throng, intent on brown paper and string, ran full tilt into him.
He put an arm round her to steady her, but only for a moment. ‘Doing good business, I see. Any chance of seeing Mr Bell?’
‘He’s in his office.’
He nodded. ‘I’ll drive you home.’
‘There’s no need, thank you all the same; the underground is very quick.’
‘Don’t be childish, Mary. You know as well as I do that it’s much more comfortable for you if I drive you there. And no sneaking out of the back door...’ He had gone before the peevish words on her tongue could be uttered.
There was no sign of him when she ushered the last customer out of the door, and there was no sound of voices coming from Mr Bell’s office. Perhaps he had had second thoughts. Despite her resolve not to go with him she felt disappointed; she would have enjoyed reiterating her refusal, she told herself firmly, and put her head round the office door.
Mr Bell was there, deep in a book, and, sitting on the other side of his desk, was Professor van Rakesma, his commanding nose buried in a little leather-bound book, which she recognised as one of Mr Bell’s choicest first editions.
She said quickly, ‘Goodnight, Mr Bell,’ nodded in the professor’s general direction and closed the door gently.
Not smartly enough. She bad reached the shop door when his hand came down on hers, about to turn the knob. ‘I’m not coming with you,’ she said as he swept her across the pavement, round the corner and into the car before she could draw breath.
Richard was asleep on the back seat, but he got up to greet her as she settled in her seat with what dignity she had left. ‘I cannot think,’ she began, ‘why you persist in annoying me, Professor van Rakesma.’
‘I am not sure myself,’ he told her mildly. ‘You are a perpetual thorn in my otherwise disciplined life.’ He turned to look at her. ‘To mix my metaphors, you are like a sore tooth that I’m unable to leave alone.’
Her brown eyes flashed with temper. ‘Well, a thorn, indeed, a sore tooth—whatever next, I should like to know?’
‘I’ve been wondering that myself. Do you suppose we might cry quits and become friends?’
Friends, thought Mary wildly. Who wants to be friends? And he’s almost a married man. ‘Certainly not.’
‘You don’t like me?’
He had begun to drive towards Hampstead.
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘Good. In that case let us at least assume an armed neutrality. I need your help.’
‘Mine? Whatever for?’
‘Well, if I may tell you... I have a cottage in Gloucestershire at Adlescombe near Stow-on-the-Wold. I go there for weekends occasionally, and when I can manage a few days off. I have decided to have a caretaker there but I think there are one or two improvements which should be made—the kitchen and so forth—before he takes up his residence. It needs a woman’s eye, though. If Pleane had been staying longer I would have got her to go with me. I’m free tomorrow if you would be kind enough to give me the benefit of your advice.’
‘What sort of improvements?’ asked Mary cautiously.
‘I’m not sure; that’s why I’m asking you to come and see for yourself and tell me.’ He gave her a sideways glance. ‘That is all I’m asking, Mary.’
She didn’t allow her thoughts to dwell on the enchanting prospect of spending a whole day with him; she would remember to be friendly in a detached way, bearing in mind all the time that he was going to marry the hateful Ilsa and taking care not to ask questions. Of course, if she were Ilsa she would never allow him to spend the whole day with another girl, however business-like the intentions were. She must feel very sure of him...
‘Yes, I’d like to come, thank you! Is your cottage quite empty? I mean, does someone go in now and then and dust around and make sure everything’s safe?’
‘Yes, Mrs Goodbody from the village “pops in”—those are her words—now and then. I’ve no idea what she does; there doesn’t seem much point in dusting if there is no one there. It all looks perfectly all right when I go.’
Of course, when he was married to Ilsa it would be a good idea to have someone there to keep the place in a state of readiness. She couldn’t imagine Ilsa putting on an apron and peeling
the potatoes.
‘I’ll call for you around half-past nine-if that’s not too early for you?’
‘I’ll be ready. Do you want me to bring some food—sandwiches and so on?’
‘Fred will see to that. I shall bring Richard with me.’
‘Oh, good. I expect he likes the country.’
He drew up outside the house and got out to open her door.
‘Would you like to come in and have some coffee?’
She hoped that he would say no while at the same time not wanting him to drive away. All the same, when he refused politely she felt let down.
‘Thank you for the lift,’ she said then, anxious not to keep him—perhaps he was going out that evening. ‘I’ll be ready in the morning. Goodnight.’
He smiled, and got into the car and drove away and she stood on the doorstep and watched him go.
Spending the day with him would mean some reorganisation of Sunday.
Polly, when told the news, volunteered at once to see to lunch. ‘As long as you leave everything ready to put in the oven. You’ll be home for supper, won’t you?’
‘Gracious, yes. By teatime, I should think. I’d better make a few of those little cakes. I’ll go and talk to Mother. Is she in the hut?’
‘Yes. Father’s over at the vicarage.’
Mary was up early to find the sky overcast, which was in a way a good thing because she could wear the green cotton jersey dress—which was about the nicest one she had—without looking too warmly clad.
Breakfast was over and everything left in apple-pie order by the time Professor van Rakesma thumped the doorknocker. He was admitted and then spent ten minutes or so chatting to her mother and father.
He looked calmly self-assured, utterly to be trusted and pleasantly detached in his manner—all of which pleased Mrs Pagett, which was what he had intended.
Polly, running round the garden with Richard, thought once again that it was a pity that Mary and he couldn’t get married. He’d be a splendid brother-in-law.
