Marrying Mary Page 11

  ‘She is very tired. She walked a long way; she will be quite herself after a good night’s sleep. I shall fetch her tomorrow morning.’

  ‘I’ll come with you; it’s the least I can do...’ She smiled at him, unable to read the expression on his face. Amusement? Amazement?

  She was a conceited woman; she had no idea that it was well-concealed contempt.

  Mary, pottering around in her dressing-gown, wishful to go to bed but waiting for the professor’s phone call, had ample time to reflect upon the evening’s happenings.

  She was still smarting from the knowledge that he considered her a sensible female. On the other hand she was agreeably surprised to discover that he went out at night to help the hapless men and women who were homeless; what was more, she doubted if anyone knew about it.

  Under his impersonal courtesy there must be a rather nice man lurking. He had sat down with that grubby, ill-cared for group of young people as though he made a habit of it. Perhaps he did. He had been nice about his sister going off like that too...

  The phone rang and she hurried to answer it, fearful of waking everyone up, which was perhaps why she sounded brisk and a little impatient.

  ‘Got you out of bed, Mary? My apologies. Is Pleane asleep?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve just been in to see her. She hasn’t been sick again and she feels quite cool. I’m in the room next door. I’ll hear her if she wakes up.’

  ‘Good. If she wants breakfast in the morning she can have it, but will you take her temperature first? I’ll be with you about eleven o’clock, if that’s convenient.’

  ‘Quite convenient, Professor van Rakesma. I’ll look after her. Goodnight.’

  She hung up quickly, suddenly not wanting to talk to him, and went to bed—to wake several times during the night and peer at the sleeping Pleane.

  In the morning she had just escorted her to the bathroom, where she had run a steaming hot bath for her—which meant that the water would be lukewarm for the rest of the day—when Polly came racing upstairs.

  ‘He’s here and there’s someone with him. A lady—ever so smart and all smiles. I don’t like her. She looked at me as though I was wearing all the wrong clothes.’

  Mary eyed her sister. ‘Well, love, I know you’re wearing what everyone else your age is wearing at the moment, but perhaps she finds it a bit strange. Go down and get the coffee, will you? It’s all ready in the kitchen. And make sure that Mother or Father—both, if you can find them—are there. I’ll tell Pleane; she’ll be so pleased.’

  Pleane wasn’t pleased. ‘llsa’s there? But I do not wish to be with her. She is not what you call a sport; she ran away yesterday because she wears high heels and is afraid to get dirty. I can see that she wants very much to marry Roel, and that will not do.’

  She got out of the bath and wrapped herself in the towel Mary offered her. ‘Now, you would do very well for him, but I think you might not agree; you are not friends, you said yesterday, and I find that strange since you came with him to find me.’

  Mary reflected on the perversity of people. Polly had seen her as a suitable wife for Professor van Rakesma, and now here was his sister of like mind, while he thought of her—if he did think at all—as sensible, with her head screwed on straight. She gave a delicate shudder and offered to dry Pleane’s back.

  ‘I’ve done the best I could with that stain on your dress,’ she observed. ‘I’m not sure what it was, and I don’t think I want to know, but I expect if you take it to a good cleaner’s they’ll get it out.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll throw it away. Roel will buy me another one.’ Pleane was dressing quickly. ‘We were to have gone to church this morning. We are going home on Wednesday and I did want to go to Westminster Abbey.’

  ‘You could go to evensong.’

  ‘Yes? You go to this evensong?’

  ‘Sometimes, but usually we all go in the morning.’

  ‘And you couldn’t go this morning because I am here. I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Don’t worry; we were going this evening anyway.’

  ‘I wish I could come with you.’

  ‘We’d love to have you, but I expect your brother has other plans.’

  Pleane said nothing more, and presently they went downstairs to the drawing-room to find Ilsa talking to her parents. There was no sign of the professor.

  Pleane shook hands with Mr and Mrs Pagett, said hello to Ilsa and introduced her to Mary. ‘Ilsa’s a friend of my mother’s,’ she explained, and Mary hid a smile at the indignation on Ilsa’s face. After all, she wasn’t all that old.

  She exchanged various civilities and, saying that she would fetch the coffee, went to the kitchen. Polly was there, carefully pouring the coffee while Professor van Rakesma leaned against the table, eating one of the cakes that Mary had made that morning.

  His good morning was genial. ‘I must apologise for spoiling your Sunday morning and bringing Ilsa with me; she was so anxious to see that Pleane was quite well again.’ Something in his voice made her look sharply at him, and he met her eyes with a guileless stare. ‘You have all been so kind.’

  He carried the tray in and Polly took the cakes; Mary stayed behind in the kitchen for a few minutes, mumbling an excuse about more coffee, but really it was because she didn’t want to see him with this Ilsa woman. Who had disliked her on sight. Mary took several heartening breaths and went to join everyone else.

  Ilsa was sitting on the edge of the little Victorian balloon-backed chair which needed a new cover so badly; she gave the impression of being uncomfortable while behaving with impeccable good manners. She refused a cake with a sweetly rueful smile. ‘I have to be so careful of sweet food,’ she explained.

  Mary, biting into her own cake, murmured with false sympathy. ‘There’s so much of me that it doesn’t matter what I eat,’ she said cheerfully, and Professor van Rakesma, listening to her mother explaining about her greetings cards, turned a laugh into a cough and agreed pleasantly that robins at Christmas-time were always popular.

  Ilsa was on edge to go, but neither he nor Pleane were to be hurried. Richard had come with them and was sitting by his master, gobbling any oddments of cake which came his way, and providing a topic of conversation.

  Mrs Pagett, free from her daughter’s inhibitions, plied her guest with questions—was he married? No? Then he ought to be. Had he a family in Holland? Yes? And where did they live, and were any of them married? How many were there and how often did he go back to his home there? Did he intend to live in England forever?

  Mary, making polite small talk with an impatient Ilsa, listened to his answers and stored them away for future reflection.

  The two men went away presently, to look at some manuscripts of her father’s, and they didn’t return for half an hour or more, by which time Ilsa was white with bottled-up annoyance. Her goodbyes, when at last Professor van Rakesma observed that they really should be going, were uttered in a voice cold enough to cause even gentle, whimsical Mrs Pagett some astonishment, but nothing could have been warmer than Pleane’s thanks and her brother’s firm handshake.

  He didn’t shake Mary’s hand, though; he thanked her formally for her help and made no reference to their meeting again.

  ‘Oh, well,’ said Mary, shutting the door firmly as he drove away. ‘That’s that.’

  The rest of the day stretched tamely ahead of her now that he had gone. She banged about in the kitchen, preparing the Sunday joint, and wished that he wasn’t so tiresome, turning up just when she was schooling herself to think no more of him.

  She and Polly went for a walk that afternoon, and after tea accompanied their parents to church. Evensong was Mary’s favourite service; she sang the hymns with pleasure in her clear voice and felt better—until she turned her head cautiously to see who was singing with equal enthusiasm only in a deep, rumbling voice. Professor van Rakesma, no less, with Pleane on one side of him and Ilsa on the other.

  Mary turned her head quickly, but not quickly enough, so that s
he had time to note that Ilsa was wearing a striking outfit and a most becoming hat. She sat through the sermon, not hearing a word of it, wondering why he and his companions should be there, but it wasn’t until they were leaving the church that her father observed, ‘Ah, I see that our guests have come.’ And when Mary looked at him enquiringly, he added, ‘I’m sure that you will give them one of your delicious meals, my dear.’

  ‘Delicious meal—when. Father?’

  ‘Why, presently, Mary; I invited them for supper. Professor van Rakesma and I have a mutual interest in the history of mid-Europe; it will be a splendid opportunity for him to examine several books that I have...’

  Mary reminded herself that she loved her father deeply, thrust aside any unfilial thoughts which crowded into her head and concentrated on supper as they moved slowly towards the church porch.

  Professor van Rakesma, Ilsa and Pleane were there, talking to the vicar and her mother and Polly, and they joined them, exchanged a few words with the vicar and began to walk slowly out of the churchyard.

  Mary had greeted everyone politely, avoided Polly’s eloquent eye and engaged Ilsa in conversation. Her remarks received short shrift and it was a relief when her mother and father were invited to get into the car with Pleane and Ilsa and be driven the short distance home, which left Mary and Polly free to tear through several short cuts and get there at the same time.

  Everyone went into the drawing-room, where Mr Pagett offered sherry, and afterwards Mary slid away to the kitchen to poke her head into the fridge and the larder and look at the remains of the joint, a wedge of cheese and, thankfully, bacon and eggs. They would have to wait at least half an hour, she thought, rapidly gathering what she would need for a bacon and cheese quiche.

  While the oven heated she made the pastry. ‘And if it turns out like lead they’ll just have to eat it,’ she told Bingo, who was watching her from his chair. The bacon fried and the eggs beaten, she almost flung them into the pastry case and banged the oven door on it.

  ‘They’ll have to eat a salad,’ she informed him. ‘Thank heaven there are some lettuces in the garden.’ She thumped her gleanings from the vegetable rack on to the table and turned round to see Professor van Rakesma standing just behind her. ‘Now what do you want?’ she asked him crossly. ‘Of all the tiresome men...’

  He said gravely, his lids lowered over amused eyes, ‘I fear we have put you out. I will make some excuse and we can go in a few minutes.’

  ‘Oh, no, you don’t! I’ve just put a quiche in the oven; you’ll jolly well stay and eat it.’

  ‘If you say so. Shall I fetch some lettuce from the garden?’

  She was chopping tomatoes, grating carrots and slicing beetroot. ‘Yes—no, you’d better not. You’ll get your hands dirty.’

  ‘It wouldn’t be the first time.’ He wandered out of the kitchen door and presently returned with two lettuces which he put in the sink. ‘Mary, I’m sorry about this; I had no idea that you knew nothing about it. Your father invited us and I took it for granted that you would know. Pleane very much wanted to go to evensong and he knew that.’

  ‘Yes, well... I was very rude to you just- now; I apologise, but you see we don’t entertain any more and there’s not much in the fridge.’

  ‘I’m sure we shall enjoy our supper, whatever it is. Shall I lay the table?’

  ‘Lay the table? You? But I don’t suppose you know how—1 mean...’ She frowned. ‘You know very well what I mean.’

  ‘Try me and see. Here or in the dining-room?’

  ‘Oh, not here, not with——’ She stopped just in time. ‘In the dining-room, and thank you. Everything you’ll need is in the dresser over there.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  PROFESSOR VAN RAKESMA, put on his mettle, laid the table with a precision and nicety which would have earned Fred’s praise, and, that done, he wandered back into the kitchen, where Mary was setting out the biscuits and cheese.

  ‘Don’t you want to go to the drawing-room? Father said there were some books...’

  ‘Presently, I fancy. I left him enjoying a talk with Ilsa.’

  The silence went on rather too long. ‘She’s very handsome,’ said Mary, ‘and that was a lovely hat. I hope she doesn’t find us too dull.’

  He didn’t answer, which was annoying of him; she cast around for something else to talk about, since he obviously had no intention of going. ‘I expect your sister is enjoying herself—’ that was rather a silly remark to make after yesterday’s adventure ‘—shopping and so on,’ she went on lamely.

  ‘Don’t try so hard, Mary,’ he said. ‘We may not be friends, but we know each other well enough by now to be able to cut out the small talk.’ He glanced at her. ‘And now I have annoyed you.’

  ‘Anything you say is of complete indifference to me,’ said Mary grandly, and tightened her hand on the wooden spoon that she was holding.

  He laughed then, and threw up his hands. ‘I cry pax; shall we bury the hatchet until we meet again?’

  ‘Certainly, but we aren’t likely to meet any more.’

  ‘Don’t tempt fate.’

  ‘Pooh,’ said Mary, and took the quiche out of the oven.

  To her surprise supper was a success. The conversation never flagged, composed as it was largely of Christmas robins, first editions, and, on a more serious note, the homeless Pleane had met, and although Professor van Rakesma spoke with some authority on the subject he didn’t mention that he went down regularly to the riverside shelters.

  Only Ilsa was silent for most of the time, pushing her supper round her plate in a well-bred fashion, brightening up when the professor spoke to her, smiling at him in a sweetly understanding manner which set Mary’s splendid teeth on edge.

  Once the meal was finished, her father bore his guest away to his study and her mother led Ilsa back to the drawing-room to listen in her vague, kind way to her view on a number of subjects.

  ‘Of course,’ she declared, ‘I shall dismiss Fred; I don’t approve of manservants. A good housekeeper and daily help is quite enough at Roel’s flat. It’s large, but it is easily run.’ She gave Mrs Pagett a wistful smile. ‘Of course, I’m quite hopeless at anything to do with housework.’

  ‘Oh, so am I,’ agreed Mrs Pagett cheerfully. ‘Such a waste of time, I always think, and Mary is such a splendid manager; I’m sure I don’t know what we would do without her. You intend to marry?’

  Ilsa turned an earnest face to her. ‘Oh, most certainly, Mrs Pagett.’

  Mrs Pagett, who wasn’t always as vague as she appeared to be, thought of the look she had surprised on her elder daughter’s face when she had glanced at the professor and felt a pang of grief for her. They would have made a splendid pair; if only he had fallen in love with Mary instead of this hard-faced woman sitting opposite her. She said conventionally, ‘I’m sure you will be very happy.’ And, since she was a kind woman, added, ‘It must have been sad to lose your husband.’

  ‘Oh, I divorced him. He didn’t understand me and he bored me. He was so serious, and I believe that one should enjoy life. I like theatres and dancing and lovely clothes.’ She gave a little trill of laughter. ‘And lots of money. But we all do, don’t we?’

  Mrs Pagett agreed quietly, reflecting that from what she had seen of Professor van Rakesma he didn’t appear to be any less serious than Ilsa’s former husband. Perhaps being in love would alter him.

  He came into the room with her own husband then, and she could see that Ilsa was sadly mistaken in her wish to change him. Here was a man who might fulfil his social obligations with charm and good manners, but they had no chance against his work as a doctor. She watched Ilsa turn to him with a charming smile.

  ‘Roel, I’ve had such a lovely evening, but perhaps we should take our leave.’ She glanced at her watch and gave a start of surprise. ’It’s almost ten o‘clock.’

  He made no demur, and when Mary and Polly came into the room goodbyes were said and Pleane, who had been in the kitchen with the
m, declared that she would see them before she went back to Holland. ‘I wish you lived nearer,’ she said, ‘but next time I come you must come and stay with us. There’s heaps of room in Roel’s flat.’

  If her brother heard this invitation he gave no sign, but Mary saw Ilsa’s angry glance. She said loudly, ‘We would like that very much,’ and was kissed three times, continental-fashion, by Pleane. Ilsa shook hands and Professor van Rakesma gave her a cool nod.

  ‘What a very nice man,’ observed Mrs Pagett as they went back to the drawing-room. ‘And so is his sister—but I don’t much care for his friend; she didn’t much care for us, did she?’

  ‘No, Mother, but I expect she leads rather a different life from ours. You know, clothes and hairdressers and beauty parlours and a busy social life.’

  With a sudden flash of waspishness her mother said, ‘She must be looking forty in the face. Perfect make-up of course, but I could see the wrinkles.’

  Mary gave her mother a hug. ‘Mother, how unkind,’ she said, and laughed. ‘Why didn’t you like her?’

  ‘She said that painting greetings cards was childish.’ Mrs Pagett frowned. ‘She said several things that made me want to shake her.’

  ‘Well, it’s a good thing that we shan’t see her again. Are you going to bed? Or shall we make a list of shopping for tomorrow?’

  Breakfast was just finished when an enormous floral arrangement was delivered to Mrs Pagett. She opened the little envelope tucked in among the roses and lilies and read it out loud. “‘Thanking you for your kind hospitality” ——’ She looked up. ‘I can’t read the signature; it’s dreadful writing...’

  “‘R van R”,’ said Mary. ‘How kind of him. Where do you want them, Mother?’

  ‘Where we can all see them; I’ll find a place while you are shopping.’

  On Tuesday morning, just as Mary and Mrs Blachett were sitting down for their mid-morning cup of tea, Pleane and Ilsa arrived. Mrs Blackett had gone to answer the doorbell—not because she felt it her duty to do so but because she wanted to see who it was. She came back into the kitchen and sat down again. ‘Two ladies. Want to see you, Miss Mary. Very posh.’