The Fortunes of Francesca Read online

  She took a taxi back to Wimpole Street and once there ate the delicious lunch Crisp had ready for her. When presently her parcels arrived, she took them up to her room and spent a delightful hour or so examining everything she had bought. She had spent a great deal of money, but not as much as the professor had allowed, and all of it, she considered, was worth every penny.

  She tried on everything once more. The dress and coat were just right—very fine woollen cloth in a misty blue, and the coat had a grey imitation fur collar which exactly matched the grey of an elegant velvet hat. She had bought a jersey dress, too, in dark green, and matched it up with a top coat of green cashmere. It had been a wicked extravagance, but when she’d tried it on she’d known she had to have it... She had been more economical with the skirts and sweaters and blouses, which had then allowed her to feel justified in choosing a quilted dressing gown and a selection of flimsy undies. She had asked the sales lady to write down everything she had bought, with its price—ignoring her look of amused surprise—so that she could show it to Marc.

  Later she had tea by the fire with Trimble for company, and Crisp came to tell her that the professor would be delayed but hoped to be home for dinner.

  Franny was disappointed, for she was looking forward to telling Marc about her shopping. Now perhaps, if he was late home, he would be too tired to be interested. It was fortunate that Mrs Willett arrived shortly after, to tell her that he had gone back to the hospital to deal with an emergency and had told her to join Franny.

  ‘He remembered that you were going shopping, and thought you might like to tell me about it.’

  Was that a polite way of letting her know that he wasn’t interested? Franny wasn’t sure, but it was nice to have Mrs Willett, an enthusiastic audience of one, to admire everything.

  The professor didn’t return, so they dined together and then waited hopefully, but he didn’t come. They wished each other goodnight and went to their beds.

  Franny lay awake for a long time, listening for his return, until she slept at last, unheeding of his silent footsteps in the early hours of the morning.

  * * *

  HE WAS AT breakfast, immaculate in his person, placid in his good morning, although he looked tired. When Mrs Willett excused herself and they were alone, Franny produced her bill from Harrods.

  ‘I got them to write everything down,’ she pointed out, ‘so that you can see just how much I spent. I bought some lovely things—’

  He interrupted her impatiently. ‘Quite unnecessary. Buy what you want; you have no need to bother me with the details.’ He added, ‘I told you how much you could spend; anything above that amount I will settle with Harrods in due course.’

  He picked up a letter and began to read it, and Franny sat swallowing disappointment at his lack of interest. Presently she spoke.

  ‘I expect you are tired and a little out of sorts if you didn’t get a good night’s sleep. You must try and get back earlier this evening and have an early night.’

  He put down his letter. ‘When I want advice as to my way of living, Franny, I shall ask for it, although I doubt that it will be you I shall consult.’

  ‘Oh, well—I didn’t mean to poke my nose into your affairs.’ She added, ‘It’ll be difficult, I dare say, but I’ll try and remember.’

  He got up from the table. ‘It would be as well for our future if you did.’

  He nodded goodbye and went into the hall where Franny heard him talking to Mrs Willett. A minute later they left the house. She sat on at the table until Crisp came to clear away the breakfast things; she was fighting a strong feeling that she was making a mistake marrying Marc. From a logical point of view it was the sensible thing to do; he wanted a wife, she needed a home and the means to keep Auntie happy. But would it be successful? All the same, when Crisp wanted to know if he should drive her anywhere that morning she answered him cheerfully.

  ‘I’m going out shopping again, Crisp, but I’ll take a taxi to Harrods, and I think I’ll have lunch out. Will you be here when I come back in the afternoon or should I take a key?’

  ‘I shall be here, Miss Bowen; you’ll be wanting tea after a long day at the shops.’

  So she got ready while he fetched a taxi and was borne away once more to fill the gaps in her wardrobe. There was still enough money left from the amount Marc had told her that she might spend. She found the friendly sales lady once more and spent a long time looking at suits. She chose a smooth tweed in a mixture of autumn colours, found a cream silk blouse to wear with it, sensible but elegant low-heeled shoes and a leather handbag and gloves.

  She then had the things she was wearing packed in a box with the promise of its delivery later that day, and sailed out of the shop, feeling quite restored in her spirits. There was money in her purse; she had coffee and sandwiches in a small café and then went window-shopping. She found a shirt and tie for Finn and a bed jacket for Auntie, whom she intended to visit on her way back to Wimpole Street. Once that lady was up and about again, she intended to take her shopping. New clothes, Franny decided, made one feel a whole lot better about everything.

  Her already delightful day was crowned by Auntie’s appearance when she called in at the hospital. She looked years younger, and was eager to get back to a normal life again. Franny, on her way back to Wimpole Street, told herself that the day had been lovely, and resolutely ignored the memory of Marc’s impatient coolness at breakfast. He probably has a nasty temper, she reflected, which I shall have to learn to live with. Disregarding his instructions, she had taken a bus back and now she was walking down Wimpole Street.

  * * *

  THE PROFESSOR HAD wandered to his consulting room windows, waiting while his nurse prepared a patient for his examination. The street below was quiet, almost empty of traffic and people.

  He saw Franny at once; she walked as though she intended to conquer the world, and he smiled a little, then frowned. She looked different. He studied the fashionable suit, the elegant shoes and the handful of smart carrier bags she was carrying, and reflected that her new outfit had turned her into a fashionable young woman, a far cry from the Franny he had first met. He smiled again at the recollection and turned away from the window to greet his patient.

  Later, driving himself to the hospital, he reflected that when he and Finn had gone to Brinsleigh he had not had the slightest intention of marrying Franny. She intrigued him, amused him, and he applauded her cheerful matter-of-fact acceptance of her life, but marrying her had been the last thing he would have thought of. Yet, when he had seen her, shabby, rather grubby and defiant, he had declared his intention of doing so. And, strangely enough, he didn’t regret it.

  He had been in and out of love like any other man, and at the back of his mind he had known that he would marry. But in his own time, and a carefully chosen woman who would fit into his lifestyle. He wasn’t sure if Franny would fit in, but she wouldn’t be at a loss as his wife. She might have lived in Fish Street but her roots were highly respectable. And there was the added bonus of the sensible relationship between them.

  He would get on with his work and she would doubtless fill her days with the sort of thing wives did. They would meet in the evenings and enjoy an hour or two of each other’s company, and if he had work to do she wouldn’t fuss. The professor, who had had only himself to please for a number of years, was now satisfied. They liked each other and, as far as he was concerned, that was sufficient.

  Later on he went back to his consulting rooms to check the next day’s patients with Mrs Willett before the pair of them went upstairs to his flat.

  Franny, when it became apparent that Marc wouldn’t be home for tea, had changed out of the new suit and got into a dove-grey cashmere dress she had been unable to resist. It was very simple and so she had added a beautiful leather belt. It showed her pretty figure to advantage, and she had taken pains with
her hair and face. Marc had told her to buy everything she needed and she had done just that. Now she would cry halt; she had enough to wear for some time.

  He had been generous and she had done her best to choose clothes which would be suitable for the wife of an eminent medical man. There was still money in her purse. As soon as Auntie was out of hospital, she must have new clothes, too. Marc would pay for them—Franny had sensibly decided that he would not tolerate her aunt in shabby clothes, and he had told her that she was free to spend as much as she wanted within reason.

  She would never be able to repay him, of course, but she would do her best to be the kind of wife he wanted. Not that he particularly wanted one—not one to love, at any rate. Thinking about it, she decided that on the whole they stood a good chance of making their marriage work. It wouldn’t be like other marriages, perhaps, but she would do her best... And she must remember not to bother Marc with the petty details of her day. The memory of his impatience that morning still rankled.

  Determined to live up to her resolve, Franny plunged at once into her new role, becoming a demure grey mouse of a girl who made no effort to start a conversation but answered her companions’ remarks with pleasant composure. The professor, already taken aback at the sight of this new, elegant Franny, was at first puzzled and then amused. He had intended working in his study after dinner, but this changed Franny intrigued him, so he spent the evening in the drawing room and waited patiently for Mrs Willett to take herself off to bed.

  He sat back in his chair then, watching Franny sitting rather primly in hers. She made an attempt to follow Mrs Willett but he said placidly, ‘No, Franny—spare me a few minutes and tell me why you have become so unnaturally quiet. Are you upset?’

  ‘Me, upset? No.’

  ‘Then what has occurred to make you lose your tongue? You have had nothing to say for yourself the whole evening. May I know why?’

  She folded her hands neatly in her lap and looked at him. ‘Well, I’ll explain. If I am to be the kind of wife you want, I must stop talking so much, mustn’t I? You don’t want to know about my shopping or how much I’ve spent, or about Crisp having a bad cold, or his sister’s chilblains. Or the sales lady at Harrods who told me that her son had just been accepted at a cathedral choir school.’ She looked away from him. ‘You see what I mean?’

  He managed not to smile. ‘Yes, Franny, I do see, but I beg you not to change. I find your silence quite terrifying. I enjoy hearing you talk, and how you manage to get to know so much about people is beyond me. If you can ignore my ill-humour and just be you, you will be the kind of wife any man would wish to have. Forgive me and tell me about your shopping.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really.’

  ‘Well,’ began Franny happily. ‘I bought a suit...’

  ‘Ah, yes, I saw it from my window when you came home this afternoon.’

  ‘You did? Is it all right? You will tell me if you don’t like any of the things I’ve bought?’

  ‘I shall tell you at once and we will go together and choose something else.’

  ‘That would be nice, but of course you would never have the time. It’s nice of you not to mind me talking too much, but I don’t expect you to waste your spare time. You have so little, and there must be a thousand things you want to do.’

  ‘I can see that you will be an ideal wife,’ observed the professor.

  ‘I shall do my best,’ said Franny.

  ‘You know the kind of wife I need?’ He watched her from beneath lowered lids.

  ‘I think so. Someone who won’t distract you from your work—I mean, if you married a very beautiful woman and were madly in love with her you wouldn’t have so much time for your patients, would you? So I’ll do very nicely, for you don’t really see me, do you? I mean,’ said Franny earnestly, ‘you don’t look at me and think I’m the most beautiful woman in the world and how much you love me. I think I can look after your home for you and be a companion when you want one—be a background, if you see what I mean...’

  He said slowly, ‘Is that how you think of me, Franny? A man with a cold heart? Engrossed in his work, incapable of loving?’

  ‘No, no. I didn’t mean that at all. You just haven’t been fortunate enough to meet someone to love. I dare say you will one day. You must let me know if you do; I wouldn’t stand in your way. After all, our marriage is only a friendly arrangement, isn’t it?’

  ‘Franny, I think I should make myself clear—’ He was interrupted by his phone. He picked it up and listened for a moment or two, then said, ‘I’ll come at once.’

  He got to his feet. ‘I must go to the hospital. We’ll talk later.’

  So Franny went to bed. She didn’t sleep a wink because as she had watched the professor go from the room she had become aware of something. She had fallen in love with him. She had, in fact, been in love with him for some time, only she hadn’t known that.

  It made things very complicated, thought Franny, turning over in her bed for the tenth time. But at least it made marrying him absolutely right. It would be difficult to keep it to herself, but it wasn’t as if she would see a great deal of him. And she would take care to have her own interests and not expect him to spend time with her unless he wanted to.

  She hardly looked her best in the morning, but she put on the suit, did her face and hair carefully and went down to breakfast. Mrs Willett was already there, priming the professor as to his day’s work.

  They smiled and said good morning, and Mrs Willett bent over his diary again. ‘You will just have time for a sandwich after seeing your last patient here and before you start your list at St Giles’. Then you’ve a consultation at four o’clock and two patients coming here at six o’clock and half past. The meeting at the Royal College of Surgeons is at eight o’clock.’

  ‘You’ll be here for dinner?’ asked Franny.

  ‘Another sandwich, Franny. I must go out again this evening—after I’ve attended the meeting.’

  She said impulsively, ‘Must you? Surely...?’

  His frown stopped her. She concentrated on taking the top off her boiled egg and didn’t see his look.

  He had seen her shadowed eyes and faintly pink nose. ‘Do you feel all right?’ he wanted to know. ‘You don’t look quite yourself, Franny.’

  ‘I feel marvellous,’ said Franny brightly. ‘Never felt better.’

  He tried again, aware of a slight uneasiness. ‘Have you any plans for today?’

  ‘Oh, yes. It’s so nice that it isn’t raining. Rain doesn’t seem to matter in the country, but it’s tiresome in London, isn’t it?’

  She buttered toast carefully, gave him a vague smile and asked Mrs Willett if she had slept well.

  She wished them both goodbye presently and went to enquire of Crisp how his cold was and wish Trimble a good day. That done, she got into her new coat and sensible shoes and took herself off for a long walk. She wouldn’t be in for lunch, she had told Crisp; a day on her own getting her thoughts straight was necessary.

  She ignored the buses and taxis. Instead she walked to Marble Arch, crossed the road and went into Hyde Park. At this time of the year there weren’t many people about, and it was still early in the morning. It was a cold day but there was no wind and it was dry. She walked steadily, not really noticing where she went, and presently she found herself in Kensington Gardens and eventually in Kensington High Street, where she went into a café and had coffee.

  There was still a lot of the day left, and she hadn’t finished her thinking, but she had allowed common sense to take over from the excitement of being in love and the uncertainty of it all, and she knew now how she intended to go on.

  She drank her coffee and went to the Victoria and Albert Museum. She had been before, when she was a child, but there had never been time since then. She strolled around, allowing its
vastness and displays to soothe her. She had lunch there and then started to walk back to Wimpole Street. She was tired now, but, Franny being Franny, was convinced that everything would be all right provided she kept her head.

  It was strange to think that only a short time ago she and Auntie had been so unhappy at Uncle William’s house. You never know what’s round the corner, she thought, and allowed herself a few moments of daydreaming—Marc would discover that he was in love with her, too, and they would live happily ever after...

  ‘Pooh!’ said Franny. ‘What nonsense.’ She spoke in such a loud voice that a rather timid woman passing her shied away in sudden fright.

  Crisp welcomed her with tea when she eventually arrived home—hot buttered toast, tiny sandwiches and a plate of fairy cakes which he modestly admitted he had baked that very afternoon.

  He liked her; she had been kind and sympathetic about his cold and she had a lovely smile. He couldn’t wish for a better wife for the professor. Crisp allowed his thoughts to become sentimental, under the mistaken impression that the pair of them were deeply in love.

  ‘I understand that the professor will be out this evening, miss. Would you and Mrs Willett like dinner at the usual time?’

  ‘Oh, yes, please, Crisp. The professor hopes to have a sandwich when he gets back early this evening. Could you have some ready for him? He’ll probably have missed his lunch.’

  ‘Certainly, miss. I’ll wait up until he returns this evening. He may require something then.’

  ‘No, don’t do that. You need your sleep. I’ll see what he says when he gets here presently.’ She smiled suddenly. ‘Oh, dear, I do sound bossy, don’t I? I don’t mean to be.’