The Fortunes of Francesca Page 13

  ‘Not at all, miss. If you’ll let me know what he wishes later on?’

  ‘Of course, Crisp. The little cakes were delicious.’ Franny and Mrs Willett were sitting in the drawing room chatting comfortably when the professor finished his consultations. It was already seven o’clock, and although he greeted Franny cheerfully he didn’t waste time on small talk.

  He looked tired. He looked tired too often, she reflected, and asked if he would like sandwiches and a drink.

  ‘Yes, please—coffee, I think. Would you ask Crisp to bring them up to my room? I’ll eat while I change.’

  As he went to the door Franny asked, ‘Would you like a meal when you get home this evening? Crisp says he’ll leave something hot for you...’

  ‘No need. The meeting should be over by nine o’clock and I’ve arranged to dine out.’

  ‘Well, have a nice evening,’ said Franny cheerfully. She smiled at him and wondered where and with whom he was dining, and why he didn’t tell her. But why should he? She mustn’t get nosy, mustn’t show interest in his private life; she must remember that he wanted a wife for only one reason: to provide a suitable background and companionship.

  She was having a long talk on the phone with Auntie when he came into the room again. He was in black tie and looked very splendid, she thought. She smiled and nodded at his goodnight, and when he had closed the door continued chatting with Auntie, although she had no idea of what they were talking about. All she could think of was Marc.

  It won’t do, she told herself, listening with half an ear to Auntie’s chatter. I mustn’t think about him. If he wants to tell me something, he will. Otherwise I must pretend I’m not interested.

  * * *

  SHE WENT DOWN to breakfast in the morning determined to ask no questions, to hold her tongue while he read his letters and to show only polite interest in any information he might let fall concerning his day.

  All wasted. Mrs Willett wasn’t there—she was having breakfast in bed for a treat, Marc told her straight-faced. ‘I have the licence,’ he told her. ‘I’m good friends with our vicar. I spent the evening with him and his wife discussing dates for our marriage. I didn’t ask you to come with me because I wasn’t sure if he could marry us at a moment’s notice. But he is willing to do so; it is just a question of you agreeing to a suitable date and time.’

  Franny opened her mouth to speak, thought better of it, and closed it again.

  ‘I’m doing it all wrong, aren’t I? But there is a problem. I arranged some time ago to go to Holland to attend my patients in various hospitals. In three days’ time. Now, if you are willing, we could marry in the day after tomorrow and travel over to Holland directly afterwards. I should like you to come with me, but if you feel that I’m rushing you into something you aren’t ready for say so. I’ll go as arranged and we’ll marry later, when I return.’

  ‘When will that be?’

  ‘Oh, a week or so.’

  ‘Where would I stay while you’re away?’

  ‘Here, of course. Auntie will be here by then, too.’

  ‘Supposing Uncle William finds out where we are...?’

  The professor had nothing to say to that, and since his face wore its usual calm expression he wasn’t much help.

  ‘I think I’d like to marry you and go to Holland. What about Auntie?’

  ‘She will be here while we are away and a very trusted nurse who works for me will come and stay here with her. And, of course, Crisp will see that she comes to no harm.’

  Franny nodded. She had no doubts about that; if Marc said something would be done, then he could be believed. ‘You really want me to go with you?’

  He smiled again. ‘Indeed, I do. Let us see—I’ll bring Auntie here in time for the wedding. And we must warn Finn. He knows that he may come and go here as he wishes, but of course he must come to our wedding.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘There is a small old church tucked away behind Wimpole Street. Just us? Auntie and Finn and, of course, Crisp, and I rather think that Mrs Willett will want to be there.’

  Franny nodded. ‘That would be very nice. Will I need a lot of clothes for Holland?’

  ‘No, no. Take that suit and a winter coat and something pretty for the evening. You can shop as much as you want there.’

  ‘I don’t know where you live.’

  ‘Between den Haag and Leiden. A very small village off the main roads, but most convenient for me for I work at hospitals in both cities.’

  ‘A country house?’

  ‘Yes. I think you will like it. Now, let us consider Auntie...’

  ‘She’ll want a new hat for the wedding.’

  He managed not to smile. ‘Of course. If you fetch her from St Giles’ in the afternoon tomorrow? Take a taxi, of course. Go to Harrods and let her buy her hat, and, I suggest, while you are about it, a dress and coat as well. Charge it to my account.’

  ‘I don’t think that Auntie...’

  ‘Remind her that she is about to become family, and gifts to one’s family are entirely admissible.’

  ‘You’re very generous.’

  He frowned. ‘Nonsense. Generosity is giving away something which will deprive one. I assure you that in my case that is not so.’

  ‘You are a very difficult person to thank,’ said Franny.

  ‘Then don’t attempt to do so.’ He spoke pleasantly but without interest.

  A difficult man, reflected Franny, with his feelings so deeply buried that he had quite forgotten that he had any. Being married to him was going to be difficult too. If she hadn’t discovered that she loved him she might have changed her mind. But she did love him...

  * * *

  AUNTIE, DELIGHTED at the idea of new clothes and a wedding, had made a splendid recovery. Assured of a secure future, and escorted by Franny, she spent an hour in Harrods where she chose a warm coat and, urged on by Franny, a fine wool dress to go under it. Choosing the hat took longer, of course, for she hadn’t had a new one for a long time. But, finally satisfied, she was ushered into a taxi and driven to Wimpole Street.

  Crisp was waiting for them with tea and toasted teacakes, and presently Franny took Auntie to the room she was to call her own until such time as she decided to have her own home again.

  Franny settled her on her bed for a nap, then went along to her own room to inspect her own outfit with an anxious eye and then spend a long time at the dressing table, examining her face to see if the various creams and lotions she had bought had made any difference to it. Nothing noticeable, she saw with regret. But at least she had no spots and her hair gleamed with cleanliness even if it tended to be mousy.

  Mrs Willett was coming to dinner and so was Finn. She got into the green jersey and, tolerably satisfied with her appearance, went along to see if Auntie was ready to go down with her.

  The other three were already there when they went downstairs, and presently they sat down to the splendid dinner Crisp had cooked for them. They drank champagne, too, and there was a good deal of lively conversation. The professor was an excellent host, and Finn was in high spirits. No one mentioned the wedding, though, not until Mrs Willett took her leave to go out to the car with the professor.

  ‘Next time we see each other it will be at your wedding.’ She kissed Franny warmly. ‘I wish you both every happiness.’

  Franny thanked her, aware of Marc standing by her, saying nothing. Well, she thought defiantly, perhaps they would be happy; she would do her best to make it so.

  When he got back Auntie went to bed and so, after a little while did Finn, who had been given a small room used as a dressing room next to Auntie’s bedroom. Which left Franny and Marc alone.

  Perhaps we could have a talk, she thought hopefully, get to know each other. But the professor had no such intentions. He su
ggested that she went to bed, too. ‘I have some work I must finish this evening,’ he told her, ‘so I’ll say goodnight.’ He touched her cheek with a light finger. ‘Sleep well, Franny.’

  ‘I always sleep well,’ said Franny stoutly and untruthfully. ‘I hope you will, too. Goodnight, Marc.’

  She took a long time getting ready for bed, quite sure that she wouldn’t sleep. But the bed was warm and very comfortable, and she was tired, excited and, deep down, not very happy. Her last waking thought was that she hadn’t been given an engagement ring. ‘It’s really too bad,’ said Franny into the dark of her room, and promptly went to sleep.

  But with the morning her doubts and disappointment had flown. It might not be an ideal marriage, but at least she loved Marc which was a step in the right direction.

  They were to marry at eleven o’clock, have a light lunch and leave for Holland immediately afterwards. Finn and Auntie, escorted by Crisp, had already left for the church when Franny went from her room. She and Marc were to drive to church together, and he came out of his study as she reached the hall.

  ‘Ready?’ He smiled at her. ‘You look very nice, Franny. Cold feet?’

  ‘Certainly not.’ He looked nice, too, she thought, in his sober grey suit and rich silk tie. She went up to him.

  ‘Marc, I shall do my best to be a good wife to you, I promise you.’

  He took her hand and bent and kissed her gently. ‘I have no doubt about that, my dear. I believe that we shall settle down very happily together.’

  Not quite the same thing as being in love, but it would do for the time being. She smiled up at him, careful to keep her voice light. ‘I’m sure we shall.’

  She got into the car beside him and sat quietly while he drove the short distance to the church.

  It was a very small, old church, crowded out by the buildings surrounding it, but inside it smelled of peace and countless years of worship, and its stained-glass windows brought colour to its grey walls and dark pews. There were flowers too, spring flowers arranged in the small chancel, and in the porch Marc handed her a posy of violets, hyacinth pips and cream rosebuds.

  She walked down the aisle beside him, sure now that everything was going to be all right; the little church with its flowers and tranquillity told her so.

  She saw Auntie and Finn, Crisp and Mrs Willett; she saw the vicar, a fairly young man with a pleasant rugged face; she heard his quiet voice and then Marc’s and then her own; she saw the ring slipped onto her finger, and it wasn’t until then that she realised that they were married.

  She signed the register after Marc, kissed and was kissed, and walked back out of the church and into the car. Nothing seemed quite real, but she would doubtless remember it all later on. A dream wedding, she reflected, and tried to think of something to say to Marc.

  He said easily, ‘A beautiful little church, isn’t it?’ He sounded placid, not in the least like a just-married man.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  BACK AT THE flat, everyone drank champagne and then sat down to an early lunch. Crisp had excelled himself, with watercress soup, poached chicken breasts with foie gras sauce, fresh peach sorbet and chocolate soufflé, with more champagne. The table in the elegant dining room had been decorated with a centrepiece of spring flowers and when Crisp fetched the coffee he brought in a wedding cake.

  It was a delightfully informal meal, with the professor at the head of the table and Franny at its foot, Crisp on one side of her and Mrs Willett on the other, while Finn and Auntie were each side of Marc. But once they had had their coffee, Marc said, ‘I don’t intend to make a speech, but we would both like to thank you for coming to our wedding and giving us the pleasure of your company at lunch.’

  He smiled down the table at Franny as she listened and everyone started to talk until, at a nod from him, she got to her feet. ‘I hope that when we’re back, we shall have another lunch together.’

  She kissed her aunt and Finn, kissed Mrs Willett too, and shook Crisp’s hand. ‘It was a lovely meal,’ she told him, ‘and thank you very much, Crisp. We’re having a lovely wedding day. You’ll take care of Auntie?’

  ‘You have my word, madam. Miss Jenkins will be here shortly—that’s the nurse who is to stay with us. We shall get along very well.’

  They were to cross from Dover by hovercraft. Franny got into the car feeling a little muzzy from the champagne. She hoped that she wouldn’t be sick on the crossing, but she thought it unlikely; she had too much to think about. Marc got in beside her, asked her if she was comfortable, then drove away, presently starting a rambling conversation which required few replies. This was a good thing, for Franny had been taken by a sudden panic.

  I must have been mad, she thought wildly. I don’t know anything about him and I annoy him; he’s as good as said so. We should have waited, got to know each other, made quite sure... But she was quite sure, wasn’t she? She loved him; she couldn’t be more sure than that...

  ‘Stop worrying, Franny.’ The professor’s voice was placid. ‘Just enjoy yourself and leave the thinking for a few days. Take things as they come.’

  Sound advice.

  ‘I feel as though I’ve fallen downstairs,’ said Franny.

  ‘But you being you, Franny, I have no doubt that you will pick yourself up and be on your way, dismissing it as one of life’s hazards.’

  ‘Like getting married?’

  He laughed. ‘Why, yes. But I don’t think that our marriage will be hazardous.’ He began to tell her about Holland and den Haag.

  ‘Your home—what is it like?’

  ‘It’s an old house. It has been added to from time to time. The village has been overlooked by road builders and estate housing simply because it lies just too far from a main road for it to be enlarged and improved.’

  ‘It sounds nice.’ It was not a very adequate answer. She waited for him to tell her more but he didn’t, only asked her if she was warm enough.

  He had told her very little about the journey, merely that they would be crossing to Calais and driving up through France and Belgium. The countryside looked sombre under a wintry sky, and when they reached Dover the seas looked grey and cold. But not, thank heaven, rough.

  It was warm and quite comfortable inside the hovercraft, and she had a cup of tea and sat looking out at the sea, pleased to discover that she felt perfectly normal.

  ‘Do you always come this way?’ she asked Marc.

  ‘From time to time. I prefer to go from Harwich by the night ferry—it gives me more time.’

  ‘At what time shall we get to your home?’

  ‘This evening. We’ll stop on the way for tea.’

  It took a little time to thread their way out of Calais, but once on the road the Rolls made short work of getting out of France and into Belgium, and then finally into Holland. Marc stopped, then, at a cheerful little café on the side of the road, and they drank their tea—teabags in glasses of not quite boiling water, but very welcome nevertheless. They were offered a plate of sprits with them, a substantial buttery biscuit which Franny ate with unselfconscious pleasure. She had been too excited to eat much lunch, and dinner was still a vague meal ahead of them.

  It was dark by now, and there was a faint mist drifting over the flat, open fields on either side of them. There was a good deal of traffic, too, but the professor didn’t slow his pace. Not until she could see the lights of a large town ahead of them.

  ‘Den Haag,’ said Marc, and she heard the pleasure in his voice. But before they reached the town he turned off the motorway into wooded country. The road was narrow, running beside a canal and then turning away from it towards a small wood. There would be houses there, thought Franny, for she could see lights twinkling amidst the trees.

  They rounded a corner and there was the village—a compact group of houses clustered round an
austere church. There was no one about, only a slow-moving cart drawn by a great horse, making its way ahead of them out of the village. There were more trees here, and a high brick wall, and then an open gateway into which the professor turned. The drive ran between thick shrubberies, straight as a rule to the massive porch of the house ahead of them—a large house with a flat face and a gabled roof, its windows glowing with light.

  ‘Not here?’ asked Franny in sudden panic.

  ‘Your—our home, Franny.’ He got out and helped her from the car, and together they crossed the sweep and climbed the double steps to the front door, standing open now, with a thin, elderly man standing waiting there.

  The professor clapped him gently on the back. ‘Moule...’ he broke into Dutch and the man smiled as he replied.

  ‘This is Moule, Franny. He has been in the family for longer than I. He runs the place and his wife is the housekeeper. He speaks English—he was in the underground movement with my father during the occupation. Moule, this is my wife.’

  Franny offered a hand and had it gently shaken.

  ‘A delight to meet you, mevrouw. And here is Betke, who will take you to your room. There will be dinner in a short time.’

  Betke had appeared silently at her husband’s elbow to be hugged and kissed by the professor. She was almost as tall as her husband, and just as lean, but her long face with its beaky nose and bright blue eyes was friendly.

  She shook hands with Franny. ‘We are most happy,’ she told her. ‘Come with me, mevrouw.’

  ‘Yes, go along with Betke,’ said the professor. ‘She’ll show you where everything is. Come downstairs when you are ready and we’ll have a drink before dinner.’ He turned away as a dog, barking joyfully, came through a door and hurled itself at him.

  So Franny, feeling like a guest who wasn’t sure what to do next, went across the hall in Betke’s wake and followed her up the wide staircase to one side. There was a half-landing where it branched to left and right to a gallery running round the hall, and Betke took the left-hand one. There were doors opening onto the gallery and several small passages. Very bewildering, thought Franny, and not at all what she had expected.