Marrying Mary

by Betty Neels

  He didn’t have to wait until Saturday, however.

  Mary was tidying the kitchen after lunch on Monday when the phone rang and a voice announced that it was Polly’s form mistress speaking and would Mary come and collect her sister, who had become ill.

  ‘Have you sent for the doctor?’ asked Mary. ‘Is she sick or has she had an accident?’

  ‘Very sick, feverish, and she doesn’t seem at all herself. I suggest that you fetch her home and get her own doctor.’

  Not a very satisfactory answer. Mary ran to give her mother a watered-down version of the lady’s report and drove over to the school. Polly was lying down on a couch in the gym, her usually rosy cheeks waxen, her skin hot.

  ‘Probably some sort of flu,’ said the form mistress. ‘I dare say a few days in bed will set her back on her feet.’ She added, ‘I’m sure she’s looking better.’

  Mary thought that she looked awful, but she didn’t say so. ‘I’ll take her home and let you know what the doctor says.’

  They helped Polly to the car between them and Mary, usually a cautious driver, was for once not cautious at all.

  Getting Polly up to her room was no easy matter; she seemed half-conscious and unsteady on her feet and, once put to bed, lay there shivering despite her fever. Mary took her temperature and went to the phone.

  Dr Hooper had just finished his morning rounds and was sitting down to a late lunch, but he promised to be there within the next fifteen minutes, which gave her time to go and tell her mother.

  Mrs Pagett was devoted to her children, but the sight of any of them ill upset her badly. She went with Mary to see Polly and said in her wispy voice, ‘Oh, Polly, darling, whatever is the matter?’ She turned to Mary. ‘She’s had measles and chicken pox and mumps.’

  ‘Yes, Mother. Dr Hooper will be here presently, and he will know what to do. Would you be a dear and get a tray of tea? I’ve interrupted his lunch and he might be glad of it.’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course. You stay here, Mary; I’ll let him in when he gets here.’

  Doctor Hooper had known them all for a long time. He peered at Polly over his old-fashioned spectacles, took her pulse, looked at her tongue and took her temperature. Then he sat down on the bed.

  ‘A nasty virus infection,’ he said. ‘There is a lot of it about. It hasn’t got a name but it’s very unpleasant. Antibiotics, I think, and stay in bed until you’ve finished the pills you’ll be taking. Plenty to drink, and eat when you want to and whatever you fancy. You may be sick, but try and take no notice of that.’

  He stood up. ‘I’ll leave you in Mary’s capable hands.’ He glanced at Mary’s anxious face. ‘Come downstairs with me, my dear, and I’ll write that prescription and give you a few directions.’

  Downstairs he warned, ‘Even with the antibiotics Polly will probably get worse before she gets better. You can manage? You may have a few disturbed nights.’

  He was right; Polly tossed and turned that night and most of the next day, peevishly refusing to eat or drink, wanting Mary to stay with her. Doctor Hooper came on the following day, said that he was satisfied that she was no worse, told Mary to get as much rest as she could and went away again. A busy GP, he still found time to sit with Mrs Pagett for a few minutes and reassure her that Polly would soon be better.

  ‘You’re sure? I can’t settle to anything...’

  Dr Hooper, who knew her well, said, ‘My dear Mrs Pagett, the best thing you can do is go to that little studio of yours and return to your painting. She is in good hands; Mary is a level-headed girl—a born nurse, if you ask me. Can’t think why she hasn’t married before now.’

  Although Polly was a little better on Thursday Mary saw that it would be impossible to go to Mr Bell’s. Very reluctantly she phoned him, and was told by the kind old man to stay at home until her sister was fit and well again. ‘I shall miss you,’ said Mr Bell.

  By some quirk of fate Professor van Rakesma, with half an hour to spare that morning, decided that he had time to call at Mr Bell’s and collect a book he had wanted. They passed the time of day briefly and he was on the point of leaving when Mr Bell observed, ‘I am missing my helper at the moment...’

  ‘Oh, why is that?’ The professor had stopped on his way out and turned round.

  ‘Her sister—Polly, I believe her name is—is ill and Mary must stay home and nurse her. A virus infection, I understand. She is quite poorly.’

  He was surprised at the look on his companion’s face. ‘Mary is a most efficient girl; I imagine she is managing very well.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I’m sure she is. Let us hope she will be back soon.’

  An hour later, between appointments, the professor left his consulting-rooms and sought out his receptionist, who was elderly and devoted and never at a loss.

  ‘Mrs Rigley——’ she had always been and would always be Mrs Rigley, although they were the best of friends ‘—I need to speak to a doctor somewhere in Hampstead. Probably on the Golders Green side. The name of the patient I want to ask about is a Polly Pagett.’ He smiled. ‘Am I asking the impossible?’

  ‘Give me a little time,’ Mrs Rigley told him calmly. ‘It is by no means impossible, but probably a lengthy business.’

  It was five o‘clock and he was on the point of leaving the hospital when she telephoned him. ’Doctor Hooper, Professor; I have his address and phone number here.’

  ‘Mrs Rigley, you’re an angel.’ He made a note of them.

  ‘Has it hindered you too much? Don’t stay late...’

  ‘No, Professor. You have only one patient here tomorrow morning, at noon. You are to lunch at the hospital before the meeting there.’ She added briskly, ‘I’ve booked Mrs Morley for six o’clock tomorrow evening. She can’t get here any sooner.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He wished her goodbye and rang off and dialed Dr Hooper’s number.

  Half an hour later he let himself into his flat, and as usual Fred came into the hall to meet him.

  ‘I must go out again Fred; can you hold dinner back for a while?’

  ‘No problem, sir!’

  ‘While I’m gone go through the food in the house and see if there’s anything suitable for a young girl who feels pretty rough. I’ll take it with me in the morning. I’ll need to leave here around half-past seven.’

  ‘I’ll see to it, sir.’ Fred, dying of curiosity, kept his face expressionless and the professor took pity on him. ‘The young sister of Miss Pagett has been taken ill; I’ve spoken to her doctor, who has no objection to my paying a call on her. I’ll take Richard with me.’

  He stopped on the way to buy flowers. For Polly, of course.

  Mary opened the door in answer to his knock. She was tired, and her hair had escaped from its usual neat French pleat, her nose needed powdering and she longed to put her feet up. She stood and stared at him.

  ‘Oh, I’m so glad...’ she said, and caught her tongue between her teeth just in time. ‘Polly’s ill.’ For a moment she thought she might burst into tears. She swallowed them back and added, ‘You know?’

  ‘Mr Bell told me. Dr Hooper has no objection to my seeing her if you would like that.’

  ‘Oh, I would—and so would she. Do come in. Do you know Dr Hooper?’

  ‘Er—no, a telephone acquaintance, shall we say? You need a night’s sleep, Mary.’

  ‘I’m quite all right. Polly gets restless during the night—’

  ‘You sit with her?’

  ‘Until she settles down again. Would you like to come upstairs? Mother is painting and Father is not back yet.’

  ‘There is no one to relieve you?’

  ‘There’s no need. Mother gets upset if any of us is ill, but she sits with Polly...’

  She opened Polly’s door and he followed her in. Polly was lying staring at the ceiling but she turned her head as they went in. ‘Professor van Rakesma—how did you know that I was ill? Mary, did you tell him?’

  He had come to stand by the bed and picked up one of her hands. �
��No, Mary didn’t tell me. You feel quite wretched, don’t you? But a few more days in bed and you’ll begin to feel your old self again. Dr Hooper gave me a good report of you.’

  He sat himself down on the side of the bed. ‘These are to make you feel better,’ he said, and laid the flowers on the quilt.

  ‘Thank you, they’re lovely. Are you going to stay for a little while?’

  He turned to look at Mary. ‘Half an hour, if I may? While you do whatever you want to downstairs.’

  He wasn’t only the man she loved but he was kind and thoughtful too, and someone to lean on, albeit metaphorically. She nipped smartly back to the kitchen, saw to the supper, fed Bingo and went to tell her mother that they had a visitor.

  ‘Bless the man,’ said Mrs Pagett. ‘Just when he’s most needed. Is he staying to supper?’

  ‘No, he has to go very shortly; he’s sitting with Polly while I get the supper.’

  Mrs Pagett looked conscience-stricken. ‘Oh, dear, I could have done that—or sat with Polly; I did mean to...’

  Mary bent to kiss her parent. ‘Darling, don’t worry! There’s almost nothing to do. Can you spare a moment to see Professor van Rakesma?’

  ‘Yes, of course; I’ll come now. Is your father back yet?’

  ‘No. He should be here at any minute, though.’

  They went into the house together—Mary to the kitchen, Mrs Pagett to her younger daughter’s bedroom. Mary heard her come downstairs presently with the professor. They both came into the kitchen and she paused in puréeing the potatoes to ask what he thought of Polly.

  ‘Doubtless a virulent virus—luckily Polly is very fit and healthy. She should begin to feel better within another forty-eight hours. She will be off-colour for a week or two, though.’

  He declined her offer of coffee, bade her a friendly goodnight and went out to his car with Mrs Pagett, who then wandered back into the kitchen. ‘Such an agreeable man. I wonder how he found out which doctor we have?’ She added vaguely, ‘Well, I suppose they all know each other.’

  Polly had brightened up considerably at his visit, but her sleep that night was fitful. She was too hot, too cold, thirsty, her legs ached...

  Mary gave up her bed presently, and. sat in a chair near her in her nightie and dressing-gown; she dozed fitfully too. Some time after six o’clock she slept deeply, and was roused by the doorbell. Polly still slept, and the house was quiet, but a glance at the clock told her that it was half-past eight. She flew downstairs and unbolted the door; it would be Mrs Blackett, she thought, forgetting it was Friday...

  The professor, with Richard beside him, and bearing a large hamper, stood in the porch. Mary stood gaping at him, still not quite awake, then she said in a wobbly voice, ‘I overslept,’ and burst into tears.

  Professor van Rakesma, never a man to hesitate, bore her gently back into the hall, closed the door behind the three of them, put the hamper on the nearest chair and took her in his arms. He didn’t speak until her sobs dwindled into sniffs and watery gasps. ‘Another bad night? This won’t do, you know. We’ll have you lying in bed beside Polly...’

  He mopped her face and thought how beautiful she was—hair in a glorious tangle, a pink nose and puffy eyes, and swathed in a shapeless dressing-gown only fit for the dustbin. The thought struck him with some force that he had fallen in love at last—that, indeed, he had been in love for some time. But first things first.

  ‘Come into the kitchen and put the kettle on and I’ll unpack this. Bingo won’t object to Richard?’

  ‘No, he’s the mildest of cats.’ Mary gave a great sniff. ‘I’m sorry to be such a fool.’

  ‘Think nothing of it. Are your mother and father still in their room?’

  ‘Yes. I usually take them a cup of tea about eight o’clock.’

  ‘Shall we have a cup first? I’ll get breakfast while you dress.’

  ‘Get breakfast? But can you cook?’

  ‘Of course I can cook. A limited menu, mind, but would scrambled eggs do?’

  ‘Oh,’ said Mary. ‘I’m so glad you’re here.’

  She was suddenly shy, and put a hand up to her tousled hair. ‘Oh, dear, I’m sorry to be so—so——’

  He didn’t let her finish. ‘Shall we have that cup of tea?’

  ‘Yes—yes, of course.’

  He put the hamper on the kitchen table and started to unpack it while the kettle boiled: a cold roasted chicken, an egg custard in a pretty little dish, tiny fairylike cakes, a bottle of champagne, a milk jelly in a delicate shade of pink, a box of brown eggs, and a nicely arranged pile of small crisp biscuits on a patterned plate.

  Mary, coming to look, said, ‘My goodness, how tempting it all looks. Polly will love everything.’

  ‘Fred did his best. He’s a good cook!’

  ‘He made all these? But how kind—and kinder still of you to have thought of it.’

  He said quietly, ‘I like Polly.’

  They drank their tea quickly and Mary carried a tray up to her parents, went to peep at Polly and then to dress. She groaned aloud when she caught sight of herself in the looking-glass. What must he have thought? she wondered.

  The professor kept his thoughts to himself and concentrated on getting breakfast. He laid the table, broke the eggs, cut bread and set to work on arranging a tray for Polly. He had finished when Mary came downstairs again, this time very neat and tidy, not a hair out of place, although she hadn’t had time to do her face. Looking at her, he decided that she looked even better in her old dressing-gown, especially with her hair all over the place.

  Mr and Mrs Pagett came down next, greeting the professor as though it were quite normal to come down to breakfast and find him there. ‘I looked in on Polly,’ said Mrs Pagett. ‘She’s still asleep. How delicious these eggs are, Mary.’

  ‘Professor van Rakesma got breakfast, Mother.’

  Mrs Pagett took this in her stride. ‘Then you are to be congratulated, Professor.’ She caught sight of the delicacies set out on the dresser. ‘And just look at these—for Polly? How very kind. She is getting better?’

  His answer was quietly reassuring. They had reached the toast and marmalade when Polly’s voice, rather querulous, reached them.

  ‘May I go up and see her?’ asked the professor. ‘Perhaps another face...’

  He sat down on the bed and smiled at Polly’s rather white face. She put out a sweaty hand and took his. ‘I did hope you’d come,’ she told him. ‘And you did. How did you know?’

  ‘I have spies everywhere.’ He took her pulse and noted that it was slower; she looked less feverish too. ‘You’re on the turn,’ he observed. ‘Dr Hooper is going to be pleased with you. Now, to oblige both your doctors, you must start to eat a little. I brought some food with me—Fred, my manservant, got up early and filled a hamper, so don’t hurt his feelings by not eating everything in it.’

  ‘I’ll try, I promise you, and do please thank him. Does he look after you? Is that the man Ilsa wanted to sack? She said he wasn’t suitable...’

  ‘I find him entirely suitable, and I hope he will stay with me until we are both very old men. He’s going to be married at Christmas to a rather nice girl called Syl.’

  ‘Will she work for you too?’

  ‘Oh, yes; we shall need extra help.’

  ‘Are you going to get married?’ Polly had heaved herself up against her pillows and he leaned forward and shook them up.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Not to Ilsa?’

  ‘No.’ He smiled slowly as she stared up at him.

  ‘Who to?’ She smiled too, a wide grin of expectancy. ‘Tell me.’

  He told her and she leaned forward and flung her arms round his neck. ‘It’s a secret between us,’ he pointed out.

  ‘Of course. I’ll not breathe a word. You’re sure?’ She glanced at his face. ‘Yes, you are! That was a silly question. Do you suppose you would mind if I called you Roel?’

  ‘I should be delighted; I am quite weary of being addressed
as Professor van Rakesma; it makes me feel excessively middle-aged.’ He stood up. ‘I must go. I’ll come and see you again, but not tomorrow—the day after. I shall expect to see you plump and rosy-cheeked and at least sitting in a chair.’

  He went presently, taking Mr Pagett, who wanted to go to the British Museum Library, with him, and Mrs Pagett, after helping Mary clear away the breakfast and putting everything away in the wrong places, drifted down to the shed.

  Mary whisked upstairs, washed Polly’s face and hands, brushed her hair and straightened her bed. ‘Breakfast,’ she said. ‘You should see what Professor van Rakesma has brought for you. There are some dear little savoury biscuits that his man Fred made specially for you and a box of brown eggs. I’m going to scramble one for you with some of those biscuits and you’re going to eat the lot.’

  Rather to her surprise Polly said quite cheerfully that she would.

  Dr Hooper, when he came, pronounced her better. ‘Another day in bed and then she may get up for a while. I don’t need to come for a day or two, but if you are worried you know where I am.’

  So when Professor van Rakesma came again two days later, just as Mary was putting the kettle on for tea, he found Polly sitting at the kitchen table, gobbling a milk jelly and the last of the little cakes. This time he had brought sponge fingers, a pot of salmon pâté and some more of the little savoury biscuits, and it seemed quite natural that he should sit down too and have his tea with her and Mary. Mrs Pagett was in her shed and Mary took her tea down to her.

  ‘He’s here again? Oh, good. I’ll be up presently; I must just paint in these cherubs’ faces.’

  She joined them, ate several sponge fingers and expressed her relief that Polly had recovered.

  ‘Ah, yes, Mrs Pagett. I was wondering if you would allow Polly to spend a few days at a cottage I have in Gloucestershire? There is a caretaker there and I’m sure you’d agree to Mary’s going with her. It would be just the thing to set her on her feet again. It’s very quiet but I’m sure they would find enough to do together.’