LITMIR.BIZ

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and it was worth it; her mother was delighted to see her—it wasn’t one of Mrs Blackett’s days and the kitchen needed urgent attention. Mary put on a pinny. ‘If you’ll make us a cup of tea—there’s a cake in the tin on the dresser—I’ll just clear these dishes and saucepans. What had you planned for the evening?’

      ‘There’s that chicken you were going to roast...’

      ‘I’ll casserole it. Then all you’ll have to do is put it in the oven a couple of hours before you want it.’ Mary picked up a teatowel. ‘Mother, supposing I write down what you need to buy each day? Then when I come home I’ll get it ready to cook.’

      ‘Oh, darling, would you? I’ve been so busy I’ve hardly had a moment to do any painting. Perhaps Polly...?’

      ‘Well, no, love, she’s got a lot of prep to do when she gets home, hasn’t she? If you pop down to the shops each morning you’ll have the rest of the day to work—you and Father can have a cold lunch. Is he at home?’

      ‘No. He said he’d be back about five o’clock.’

      Mary hung the teacloth to dry and sat down at the table. ‘So we’ll have tea and decide what to buy tomorrow.’

      ‘Will you be away long?’ asked her mother wistfully. ‘We don’t seem able to get on very well when you’re not here, dear.’

      ‘Not long, and I can come home each afternoon— well, most of them; I don’t know about weekends.’

      But when Sunday came Mrs Stone arrived at her usual hour, and this time the professor was. with her. He took a quick look at Mrs Winton, pronounced her greatly improved, suggested that she could take some exercise each day and, as they went downstairs, observed casually that since he had heard that Mary lived at Hampstead, and he was on his way there, he would give her a lift.

      Mary paused on the bottom tread. ‘Thank you; that’s kind of you to offer but I’ve got our car—I have to get back again, you see.’

      ‘I’m invited to tea with my godson—his parents live near the Heath. I’ll pick you up at around five o’clock and collect Maisie.’

      Even though she was so much in love with him and could hardly bear him out of her sight Mary took a few moments to agree to this. Her heart might be his, but common sense told her that allowing herself to get involved wouldn’t do at all. A prudent refusal was on the tip of her tongue when he said, ‘Well, run along and get your coat and we can be off.’

      He sounded just like the older of her two brothers; besides, if she refused to go she might never see him again...

      She went out to the car with him and he opened the door for her to get in. There was a dog sitting behind the steering-wheel—a Jack Russell, white and black with a whiskered face full of intelligence. He eyed her beadily and the professor said, ‘A friend, Richard,’ and went round to his door and got in.

      Richard moved to sit between them, panting and uttering short happy barks. Mary rubbed his ears and asked, ‘Why Richard? It’s an unusual name for a dog.’

      ‘He has a lion’s heart. Don’t let him crowd you; you like dogs?’

      ‘Yes, but we haven’t got one. We have a cat called Bingo.’

      He began to talk about her aunt then; he sounded exactly like a family doctor, which made him remote so that she couldn’t find the courage to ask him about his work, let alone his personal life. Even though he talked about Mrs Winton it was surprising the amount of information he gleaned from her without giving the least inkling of his own life.

      They were very nearly at her home when she asked shyly, ‘Do you live here in England or go back to Holland?’

      ‘My home is in Holland but I spend a good deal of time here.’ He added lightly, ‘A foot in either camp, as it were.’

      Which left her knowing no more about him than that.

      He stopped before her home and she thanked him with a hand on the door ready to jump out, but he was there before her, holding her door open—something Arthur wouldn’t have dreamt of doing even if she’d had her arms full of parcels. Arthur would have sat behind the wheel and said, ‘So long, old girl.’

      Professor van Rakesma was older and wiser than Arthur, besides the fact that he had nice manners. He opened the gate, glanced at the shabby house with its elaborate gables and said, ‘There must be a splendid view from the back of your home.’

      ‘Oh, there is—the Heath, you know.’

      They stood facing each other, either side of the gate, and he smiled suddenly. ‘I’ll be back around five o’clock, Miss Pagett.’

      She went up the overgrown drive to the front door and turned round to look when she reached it. He was still there, and she wondered uneasily if he had expected to be asked in. He had said that he was going to have tea with his godson ... She opened the door and went inside.

      Polly came into the hall to meet her. ‘Mary, I haven’t seen you for days. Mother’s in the hut and Father’s in the study. I cooked most of the lunch. Can you stay for tea? I made some rock cakes.’

      ‘Lovely, Polly, and I can stay for tea, but I have to be ready to leave at five o’clock.’ She went on with a slightly heightened colour, ’I have a lift here and back.’

      ‘Not Arthur?’

      ‘Heavens, no. What I mean is, I don’t think he knows I’m at Aunt Thirza’s house.’

      ‘Then who?’

      ‘Professor van Rakesma brought Mrs Stone, who relieves me each day, and since he was visiting someone in Hampstead he said he’d bring me home and drive me back.’

      ‘What’s he like? I know you said he had ginger hair and blue eyes but is he nice?’

      ‘Very nice.’

      ‘Is he married?’

      ‘I really don’t know. He’s—he’s not a man to talk about himself, I think.’

      ‘Well, then, he’s a nice change from Arthur,’ observed Polly. ‘It would be nice if he fell in love with you and married you, and that would be one in the eye for Arthur.’

      ‘Arthur is a good, steady man,’ said Mary as they went into the kitchen and began to gather things ready for tea.

      ‘Oh, pooh,’ said Polly. ‘Can you imagine what he’ll be like in ten years’ time?’

      Mary knew exactly what she meant.

      On Sundays, when they were all at home, they had tea in the drawing-room—a large, lofty-ceilinged place and very draughty since the old-fashioned windows were ill-fitting and allowed the air to seep in round their frames. In winter, of course, the door was shut and no one went near the place; it would have cost a fortune to light a fire large enough to warm the room and there was a damp patch in one corner which dried out during the summer and reappeared each autumn.

      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.’

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