Marrying Mary. Betty Neels

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ occasionally arise which prevent our keeping to our original plans,’ he said mildly. ‘Would you be good enough to go with Sister to the examination-room so that I can take a look?’

      ‘You will stay here,’ she told Mary as she went. Mary didn’t look up, which was a pity for she would have found his eyes on her. He couldn’t see her face, but her glorious hair was enough to attract any man’s eye...

      ‘Is there something wrong with your shoe?’ he asked gently.

      She looked at him then, still pink. ‘No—no.’ She went on rapidly, ‘My aunt’s tired; she didn’t mean what she said.’

      He smiled and her heart danced against her ribs. ‘No? A disappointment; I rather liked being called “young man”.’ He got up and went into the examination-room, and when he came out again presently he didn’t so much as glance at her but sat down and began to write. When Mrs Winton reappeared he told her that for her age she was very fit and there was no reason why she shouldn’t resume a normal lifestyle.

      ‘You have someone to look after you? A housekeeper ? A daughter?’

      ‘A housekeeper and, of course, should I require extra help, my niece—’ she nodded at Mary‘—would come.’

      He nodded. ‘Then everything seems most satisfactory, Mrs Winton.’ He stood up and shook hands with her and bade her a grave goodbye, gave Mary a brief, unsmiling nod, then sat down and took up his pen once more.

      It was Sister who said, ‘You’ll need an appointment for six months’ time, Mrs Winton; go and see Reception as you go out. Professor van Rakesma will want to keep an eye on you.’

      Great Aunt Thirza stopped short. ‘Professor? You mean to tell me that he’s a professor?’

      ‘Yes, and a very clever one too, Mrs Winton. We’re lucky to have him for a consultant.’

      Over lunch at a nearby café, Great Aunt Thirza observed that for a foreigner his manners had been surprisingly good. Mary murmured a reply, busy with her own thoughts.

      ‘Presumably,’ went on Great Aunt Thirza, ‘he is reliable.’

      ‘Well, he’s a professor. I expect he had to take exams or something before he could be one.’

      ‘I trust the exams were taken here in England. Our standards are high.’

      ‘Wasn’t the seat of medical learning Leiden? I believe it is still considered one of the best medical schools...’ She added, ‘He is Dutch.’

      ‘That is as may be,’ observed the old lady ‘I shall check with Dr Cymes.’

      Mary, who had been wondering how she could find out more about the professor, said casually, ‘What a good idea. You must let me know what he says. Probably he’s over here on some exchange scheme.’

      It was a slender chance, she thought wistfully; it was unlikely that she would ever see him again. How silly she was to fall in love with a complete stranger. ‘We’d better start back,’ she said briskly. ‘You’ll want to ring your housekeeper and arrange things.’

      ‘Naturally. I intend to leave your father’s house in two days’ time; that will give us the opportunity to pack my things. You will, of course, drive me home.’

      At the thought of eating sausages and the weekend joint again Mary sighed with relief; she would have driven her great aunt to the furthest corner of the land...

      Her mother and father expressed pleasure at Mrs Wimton’s recovery, and pressed her to stay as long as she wished, unaware of Mary’s speaking glance. Mary could see her wavering. Something had to be done—and quickly. ‘Polly, fetch your recorder and play something for Great Aunt Thirza.’

      A wobbly rendering of ‘Greensleeves’, followed by an unrecognisable piece full of wrong notes, which Polly assured them was ‘The Trout’ by Schubert, put an end to the old lady’s indecision; she would return home, as she had first intended, in two days’ time.

      It fell to Mary’s lot, naturally enough, to pack for her aunt, and then unpack everything again because that lady suddenly remembered that she would need a particular cardigan to wear. She did it all cheerfully, quite unmoved by her aunt’s fault-finding and lack of thanks, and two days later she got the car out, loaded the cases and settled Mrs Winton on the back seat.

      Her father had come out of his study to say goodbye and her mother, in her painting smock and holding a brush in her hand, had joined him on the doorstep. Polly wasn’t back from school but Mrs Blackett, obliging with an extra afternoon’s work, glowered from the kitchen window.

      Great Aunt Thirza said her goodbyes graciously, omitting to thank anyone, giving the impression that she had honoured them greatly by her visit and pausing long enough in the hall to find fault with several things around the house. ‘I’m sure, though, that you did your best,’ she added, ‘and on the whole the meals were palatable.’

      These remarks were met in silence. ‘I dare say I shall see improvements when I next visit you,’ she said and swept out to the car.

      The Pagetts watched their daughter drive away. ‘Perhaps we should wait a little before we invite dear Aunt Thirza to stay again, my dear,’ observed Mr Pagett, and added, ‘I do hope Mary will cook something tasty for supper...’

      Mrs Winton lived in Richmond in a red-brick terraced house, which was much too large for her and stuffed with mid-Victorian furniture, heavy plush curtains and a great many ornaments. Her housekeeper had been with her for a good number of years—a silent, austere woman who kept her distance, ran the house efficiently and never talked about herself, which wasn’t surprising really since Mrs Winton never asked.

      She opened the door as Mary stopped the car, wished them good afternoon and took Mrs Winton’s luggage from the boot. ‘We’d like tea at once, Mrs Cox,’ said Great Aunt Thirza, and swept indoors with a brisk, ‘Come along, Mary; don’t dawdle!’

      Mary wasn’t listening; she had gone back to the car to give Mrs Cox a hand with the luggage.

      She hadn’t wanted to stay for tea but good manners made it necessary; she sat on an uncomfortable horsehair chair—a museum piece if ever there was one—and drank weak tea from a beautiful Minton cup and ate a dry Madeira cake which she suspected had been in the tin ever since Great Aunt Thirza’s illness.

      While she ate she thought of the sausages and the mountains of chips she would cook when she got home. She had no doubt that her mother and father and Polly would enjoy them as much as she would.

      Driving back presently, it wasn’t sausages and chips on her mind, it was love—the sheer excitement of it, the wonder of it, just to look at someone and know that he was the one... Her euphoria was short-lived. ‘Fool,’ said Mary. ‘You’ll never see him again—it was pure chance; besides, he didn’t even look at you.’

      She edged past a slow-moving Ford Anglia, driven by an elderly man in a cloth cap. ‘He’ll be married to some gorgeous wisp of a girl who he’ll treat like fragile porcelain.’ She sighed; no one, however kindly disposed, could describe her as fragile. ‘All the same, it would be nice to find out about him.’

      She was talking to herself again, waiting at traffic lights, and the driver of the car alongside СКАЧАТЬ