Betty Neels - Dearest Mary Jane

Mary Jane fetched a cup of coffee for herself, refilled Felicity’s cup and sat. ‘Did you have a successful show?’ she asked.

‘Marvellous. I’m off to the Bahamas next week—Vogue and Elle. When I get back it will be time for the dress show in Paris. Life’s all go...’

‘Would you like to change it?’

Felicity gave her a surprised stare. ‘Change it? My dear girl, have you any idea of the money I earn?’

‘Well no, I don’t think that I have...’ Mary Jane spoke without rancour. ‘But it must be a great deal.’

‘It is. I like money and I spend it. In a year or two I intend to find a wealthy husband and settle down. Sooner, if I meet someone I fancy.’ She smiled across the little table. ‘Like that man I met when I was here last week. Driving a Rolls and doing very nicely and just my type. I can’t think how you met him, Mary Jane.’

‘He operated on a friend of mine here and I met him at the hospital. He stopped for a cup of tea on his way back to London. I don’t know anything about him except that he’s a specialist in bones.’

‘How revolting.’ Felicity wrinkled her beautiful nose. ‘But of course, he must have a social life. Is he married?’

‘I’ve no idea. I should think it must be very likely, wouldn’t you?’

‘London, you say? I must find out. What’s his name?’

Mary Jane told her but with reluctance. There was no reason why she should mind Felicity’s interest in him, indeed she would make a splendid foil for his magnificent size and good looks and presumably he would be able to give Felicity all the luxury she demanded of life.

‘He said he was going abroad—to Holland, I think,’ she volunteered.

‘Good. That gives me time to track him down. Once I know where he lives or works I can meet him again—accidentally of course.’

Well, thought Mary Jane in her sensible way, he’s old enough and wise enough to look after himself and there’s that other woman who came here with him...

She didn’t mention her to her sister.

Felicity didn’t stay long. ‘Ticking over nicely?’ she asked carelessly. ‘You always liked a quiet life, didn’t you?’

What would Felicity have said if she had declared that she would very much like to wear lovely clothes, go dancing and be surrounded by young men? Mary Jane, loading a tray carefully, agreed placidly.

Since it seemed likely that the quiet life was to be her lot, there wasn’t much point in saying anything else.

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