Dearest Mary Jane. Betty Neels

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ and led to the drawing-room where Miss Mabel sat surrounded by furniture which had been there before she was born and which neither she nor her sister would dream of changing.

      Mary Jane sat down on a nice little Victorian button-back chair and embarked on a cheerful conversation. It was rather like talking to someone condemned to the guillotine; Miss Mabel bore the appearance of someone whose last moment had come. It was a relief when the taxi arrived and the cheerful conversation was scrapped for urgent persuasions to get in.

      They were half an hour too early for their appointment, which was a mistake, for the orthopaedic clinic, although it had started punctually, was already running late. It was going on for three o’clock by the time the severe-looking sister called Miss Potter’s name and by then she was in such a nervous state that Mary Jane had a job getting her on to her feet and into the consulting-room.

      The consultant sitting behind the desk got up and shook Miss Potter’s nerveless hand—the man who had demanded tea for his tiresome companion. Mary Jane, never one to think before she spoke, said chattily, ‘Oh, hello—it’s you—fancy seeing you here.’

      She received a look from icy blue eyes in which there was no hint of recollection, although his ‘Good afternoon’ was uttered with detached civility and she blushed, something she did far too easily however much she tried not to. The stern-faced sister took no notice. She said briskly, ‘You had better stay with Miss Potter, she seems nervous.’

      Mary Jane sat herself down in a corner of the room where Miss Potter could see her and watched the man wheedle that lady’s complaints and symptoms out of her. He did it very kindly and without any sign of impatience, even when Miss Potter sidetracked to explain about the marmalade which hadn’t jelled because she had felt poorly and hadn’t given it her full attention. A nasty, arrogant man, Mary Jane decided, but he had his good points. She had thought about him once or twice of course, and with a touch of wistfulness, for handsome giants who drove Rolls-Royce motor cars weren’t exactly thick on the ground in her part of the world, but she hadn’t expected to see him again. She wondered about his beautiful companion and was roused from her thoughts by Sister leading Miss Mabel away to a curtained-off corner to be examined.

      The man took no notice of Mary Jane but wrote steadily and very fast until Sister came to tell him that his patient was ready.

      He disappeared behind the curtain and Mary Jane, bored with sitting still and sure that he would be at least ten minutes, got up and went over to the desk and peered down at the notes he had been writing. She wasn’t surprised that she could hardly make head or tail of it, for he had been writing fast, but presently she began to make sense of it. There were some rough diagrams too, with arrows pointing in all directions and what looked like Latin. It was a pity that no one had seen to it that he wrote a legible hand when he was a schoolboy.

      His voice, gently enquiring as to whether she was interested in orthopaedics, sent her whirling round to bump into his waistcoat.

      ‘Yes—no, that is...’ She had gone scarlet again. ‘Your writing is quite unreadable,’ she finished.

      ‘Yes? But as long as I can read it...you’re a nosy young woman.’

      ‘The patients’ charter,’ said Mary Jane, never at a loss for a word. He gave rather a nasty laugh.

      ‘And a busybody as well,’ be observed.

      He sat down at his desk again and started to write once more and she went back to her chair and watched him. About thirty-five, she supposed, with brown hair already grizzled at the sides, and the kind of commanding nose he could look down. A firm mouth and a strong chin. She supposed that he could be quite nice when he smiled. He was dressed with understated elegance, the kind which cost a great deal of money, and she wondered what his name was. Not that it mattered, she reminded herself, as Miss Mabel came from behind the curtain, fully dressed even to her hat and gloves.

      He got up as she came towards him and Mary Jane liked him for that, and for the manner in which he broke the news to his patient that an operation on her hip would relieve her of pain and disability.

      He turned to Mary Jane. ‘You are a relation of Miss Potter?’ His tone was politely impersonal.

      ‘Me? No. Just someone in the village. Miss Potter’s sister couldn’t come because of Didums...’ His raised eyebrows forced her to explain. ‘Their dog—she’s not very well, the vet said...’ She stopped. It was obvious that he didn’t want to know what the vet had said.

      ‘Perhaps you could ask Miss Potter’s sister to ring the hospital and she will be told what arrangements will be made to admit her sister.’

      He addressed himself to Miss Mabel once more, got to his feet to bid her goodbye, nodded at Mary Jane and Sister ushered them out into the waiting-room again.

      ‘What is his name?’ asked Mary Jane.

      Sister had her hand on the next case sheets. She gave Mary Jane a frosty look. ‘If you mean the consultant you have just seen, his name is Sir Thomas Latimer. Miss Potter is extremely lucky that he will take her as a patient.’ She added impressively, ‘He is famous in his field.’

      ‘Oh, good.’ Mary Jane gave Sister a sunny smile and guided Miss Mabel out of the hospital and into the forecourt where the taxi was parked.

      The return journey was entirely taken up with Miss Mabel’s rather muddled version of her examination, the driver’s rather lurid account of his wife’s varicose veins and their treatment and Mary Jane doing her best to guide the conversation into neutral topics.

      It took some time to explain everything once they had reached the cottage. Mary Jane’s sensible account interlarded with Miss Mabel’s flights of fancy, but presently she was able to wish them goodbye and go home. Brimble was waiting for her, wanting his tea and company. She fed him, made a pot of tea for herself and, since it was almost five o’clock by now, she made no attempt to open the tea-room. She locked up and went upstairs and sat down by the gas fire with Brimble on her lap, thinking of Sir Thomas Latimer.

      Nothing happened for several days; the fine weather held and Mary Jane reaped a better harvest than usual from motorists making the best of the last of summer. She had seen nothing of the Misses Potter but she hadn’t expected to; they came once a week, as regular as clockwork, on a Thursday to draw their pensions and indulge themselves with tea and scones, so she looked up in surprise when they came into the tea-room at eleven o’clock in the morning, two days early.

      ‘We have had a letter,’ observed Miss Emily, ‘which we should like you to read, Mary Jane, since it concerns you. And since we are here, I think that we might indulge ourselves with a cup of your excellent coffee.’

      Mary Jane poured the coffee and took the letter she was offered. It was very clearly worded: Miss Mabel was to present herself at the hospital in four days’ time so that the operation found necessary by Sir Thomas Latimer might be carried out. Mary Jane skimmed over the bit about bringing a nightgown and toiletries and slowed at the next paragraph. It was considered advisable, in view of Miss Mabel’s nervous disposition, that the young lady who had accompanied her on her previous visit should do so again so that Miss Potter might be reassured by her company.

      ‘Well, I never,’ said Mary Jane and gave the letter back.

      ‘You will do this?’ asked Miss Emily in a voice which expected Mary Jane to say yes. ‘Most fortunately, you have few customers at this time of year, and an hour or so away will do you no great harm.’

      Mary СКАЧАТЬ