Betty Neels - Marrying Mary

Today was dry and warm, however, and the room, though shabby and on the chilly side, was pleasant enough; the chairs were elderly but comfortable and Mary and Mrs Blackett kept the tables and cabinets polished. They laid the tea things on a table by the big bay window at the back of the room and Mary cut sandwiches while Polly cut the cake and boiled the kettle.

As Mary sliced and spread she allowed her thoughts to wander. Professor van Rakesma was probably at that very moment eating his tea somewhere in Hampstead. It would be a more elegant meal than she was preparing, of course—good china and silver teaspoons and cake-stands. He must be glad to get away from the hospital, which was jammed tight among narrow, busy city streets. Would he live there? she wondered, and dismissed the idea. Consultants would only be at the hospital at certain times; he must have a flat ...

‘Mary.’ Polly had raised her voice. ‘I’ve been talking to you for ages and you haven’t heard a word. Are you in love? You look quite moony.’

‘Good heavens, no.’

Mary spoke so sharply that Polly said, ‘Well, you don’t have to snap my head off. P’haps you are tired. Great Aunt Thirza’s pretty grim, isn’t she?’

‘She’s old. Will you be a darling and fetch Mother from the hut? And I’ll get Father.’

Tea was a pleasant, leisurely meal. Mrs Pagett wondered in her dreamy way when Mary would be home again, and her father remarked in a vexed voice that when she was away he could never find anything that he wanted.

‘I’ll be home soon,’ soothed Mary. ‘Aunt Thirza is much better and she’s to start doing more tomorrow.’

‘That’s nice, dear. Don’t let her tire you too much,’ observed her mother. ‘I suppose you have to go back after tea?’

‘Yes. Five o’clock. Professor van Rakesma gave me a lift here and is calling for me then.’

‘He could have come to tea...’

‘He was going to have tea with his godson, somewhere in Hampstead.’

‘Will he be coming in? I still have one or two cards—’

’He won’t come in, Mother. I’ll wait for him at the gate—he’ll want to get back:

Mrs Pagett got up. ‘Then you won’t mind if I go back to the but and get on with my painting, darling. I’ll see you tomorrow, I expect.’

She wandered away down the garden and presently Mr Pagett got up too. ‘I’ll leave you two to tidy up; I’ll only be in the way.’

Polly ate the last sandwich. ‘I’ll wash up,’ she volunteered, ‘after you’ve gone.’

‘We’ll do it together—there’s fifteen minutes before he’ll be here.’

They cleared the table together and went into the kitchen. Mary turned on the sink taps and waited patiently for the water to get warm—the boiler was beginning to get temperamental—and Polly went off to feed Bingo. She went out of the back door to call him in and found him lying comfortably in a rose bed by the gate. Professor van Rakesma was leaning over the gate, doing nothing.

‘Hello,’ Polly danced up to him. ‘Have you come for Mary? She’s in the kitchen, washing up.’ She scooped up Bingo and added, ‘Open the gate and follow me.’

The professor smiled down at her. ‘Shall I be welcome?’

‘Why ever not? If you’re a professor shouldn’t you be old or at least elderly?’

‘Er—you know, I’d never thought about it. I shall, of course, in due time be elderly and hopefully old.’

‘How old are you?’

‘Thirty-five.’ He sounded amused.

‘I’m thirteen. Mary’s twenty-four, getting on a bit; if she doesn’t marry Arthur she’ll be an old maid.’

‘Then let us hope that there is an alternative.’

They had arrived without haste at the kitchen door and he stood for a moment watching Mary, who was attacking a saucepan with a great deal of energy so that her hair was coming loose as she rubbed and scoured. She didn’t see him at once but when Bingo let out an impatient miauw said, ‘You found him. Good. I can’t think why this saucepan is burnt—what...?’

Something made her turn her head then. Feeling very much at a disadvantage, and aware that she hardly looked her best, she said peevishly, ‘You should have come to the front door.’

He said meekly, his heavy lids hiding the gleam of amusement in his eyes, ‘I do apologise. I’ll go back and ring the bell while you tuck your hair up and assume your usual calm manner!’

She smiled then, and Polly laughed. ‘I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to be rude.’

‘Think nothing of it; I am convinced that a burnt saucepan is enough to upset any housewife worth her salt.’

Polly said suddenly, ‘I like you. You’re not a bit like a professor. Are you married? Because if you aren’t you might—’

Mary, with a heightened colour, interrupted her briskly. ‘Polly, be an angel and tell Father I’m just going, will you?’ She was washing her hands and wishing that she could get to a comb and a looking-glass. Heaven alone knew what she looked like. ‘I’ll get my handbag...’

Polly went with them to the car and the professor waited patiently while she admired it. ‘I’ve never ridden in a Rolls Royce,’ she observed wistfully.

‘Then I will come and take you for a ride one day.’

‘You will? You promise?’

‘I promise.’

‘You’re great—I do wish that Mary—’ She caught her sister’s look of outrage and went on airily, ‘Well, perhaps I’d better not say that.’ When they were in the car she poked her head through the open window. ‘If you take a good look at Mary she’s quite pretty!’

The professor spoke gravely. ‘I agree with you absolutely, Polly.’ He waved goodbye and drove off and Mary, very red in the face, was relieved when he didn’t even glance at her.

She said presently, ‘You mustn’t take any notice of Polly—she’s a bit outspoken.’

‘One forgets how delightful it was when one could speak honestly—something quickly smothered by the conventions. Have you ever considered how much happier we would be if we uttered our real feelings instead of the well-mannered platitudes expected of us?’

‘Well, it would be nice sometimes to say just what one wished to say...’ She stared ahead of her. ‘I expect you have to—to—wrap up your words to your patients.’

‘Indeed I do, but if I’m asked a straight question then I give an honest answer.’

‘You like being a doctor?’

He smiled faintly. ‘Yes, it has been, until very recently, the one great interest in my life.’

She thought about this. ‘Are you going to get married?’

‘Shall we say, rather, that I have from time to time considered it?’ He glanced at her. ‘And you?’

‘Me? No...’ She cast around to find some light-hearted remark about that, and was relieved when Richard, perched between them, decided that her lap would be more comfortable. After that they said very little until he stopped at Great Aunt Thirza’s front door.

After he and Maisie had gone Mary, preparing her aunt’s supper since Mrs Cox had gone to church, allowed her thoughts to dwell on the professor. His goodbye had been polite but uninterested, just as though, she thought bitterly, he had discharged a task and was thankful that it was done. Well, she would take care to keep out of his way in future; she would badger Dr Symes to allow her to go home within the next day or two.

She carried out her plan on the following morning when Dr Symes arrived. There was really no reason for her to stay any longer; Great Aunt Thirza was quite recovered, she told him. Dr Symes agreed.

‘I can arrange for a practice nurse to come in each morning, just to keep an eye on things, and both Professor van Rakesma and I are agreed that the sooner your aunt returns to her normal, quiet way of living the better. You do understand that there may be further heart attacks, but living an invalid’s life is no guarantee against that?’