Dearest Mary Jane

‘Your patient? Was the operation successful?’ She went even pinker; perhaps she shouldn’t have asked—it wasn’t any of her business.

‘Entirely, thank you—a good start to my day.’ Thank heaven he hadn’t sounded annoyed, thought Mary Jane.

The nurse led Margaret away then, and Mary Jane sat and looked at the glossy magazines scattered around her. The models in them looked as though they should still be at school and were so thin that she longed to feed them up on good wholesome food. Some of the clothes were lovely but since she was never likely to wear any of them she took care not to want them too much.

I’m the wrong shape, she told herself, unaware that despite her thinness she had a pretty, curvy figure and nice legs, concealed by the tweed suit.

The door opened and Sir Thomas showed Margaret back into the waiting-room, and it was quite obvious that Margaret was in a dreadful temper whereas he presented an impeturbable manner. He didn’t look at Mary Jane but shook Margaret’s reluctant hand, wished her goodbye with cool courtesy and went back into his consulting-room.

Margaret took no notice of the nurse’s polite goodbyes but flounced down to the street. ‘I told you he was no good,’ she hissed. ‘The man’s a fool, he says there is nothing wrong with me.’ She gave a nasty little laugh. ‘I’m to take more exercise, if you please—walk for an hour, mind you—each day, make beds, work in the garden, be active. I have suffered for years with my back, I’m quite unable to do anything strenuous; if you knew the hours I spend lying on the chaise longue...’

‘Perhaps that’s why your back hurts,’ suggested Mary Jane matter-of-factly.

‘Don’t be stupid. You can drive me home and I shall tell Dr Fellowes exactly what I think of him and his specialist.’

‘He must know what he’s talking about,’ observed Mary Jane rashly, ‘otherwise he wouldn’t be a consultant, would he?’

‘What do you know about it, anyway?’ asked Margaret rudely. They had reached the hotel. ‘Get your bag and get someone to bring the car round. We’re leaving now.’

It was a pleasant autumn day; the drive would have been agreeable too if only Margaret would have stopped talking. Luckily she didn’t need any answers, so Mary Jane was able to think her own thoughts.

She wasn’t invited in when they arrived at the house. Mary Jane, to whom it had been home for happy years, hadn’t expected that anyway. ‘You can drive the car round to the garage before you go,’ said Margaret without so much as a thank-you.

‘Oliver can do that whenever he comes back; if you mind about it being parked outside you can drive it round yourself, Margaret; I’m going home.’ She added rather naughtily, ‘Don’t forget that hour’s walk each day.’

‘Come back,’ ordered Margaret. ‘How can you be so cruel, leaving me like this?’

Mary Jane was already walking down the short drive. She called over her shoulder, ‘But you’re home, Margaret, and Sir Thomas said that there was nothing wrong with you...’

‘I’ll never speak to you again.’

‘Oh, good.’

Mary Jane nipped smartly out of the open gate and down to the village. It was still mid-afternoon; she would open the tea-room in the hope that some passing motorist would fancy a pot of tea and scones. First she would have a meal; breakfast was hours ago and Margaret had refused to stop on the way. Beans on toast, she decided happily, opening her door.

Brimble was waiting for her, she picked him up and tucked him under an arm while she opened windows, turned the sign round to ‘Open’ and put the kettle on.

Brimble, content after a meal, sat beside her while she ate her own meal and then went upstairs to take a nap, leaving her to see that everything was ready for any customers who might come.

They came presently, much to her pleased surprise; a hiking couple, a family party in a car which looked as though it might fall apart at any moment and a married couple who quarrelled quietly all the while they ate their tea. Mary Jane locked the door with a feeling of satisfaction, got her supper and started on preparations for the next day. While she made a batch of tea-cakes she thought about Sir Thomas.

It was towards the end of October, on a chilly late afternoon, just as Mary Jane was thinking of closing since there was little likelihood of any customers, that Sir Thomas walked in. She had her back to the door, rearranging a shelf at the back of the tea-room and she had neither heard nor seen the Rolls come to a quiet halt outside.

‘Too late for tea?’ he asked and she spun round, clutching some plates.

‘No — yes, I was just going to close.’

‘Oh, good.’ He turned the sign round. ‘We can have a quiet talk without being disturbed.’

‘Talk? Whatever about? Is something wrong with Miss Potter? I do hope not.’

‘Miss Potter is making excellent progress...’

‘Then it’s Margaret—Mrs Seymour.’

‘Ah, yes, the lady you escorted. As far as I know she is leading her normal life, and why not? There is nothing wrong with her. I came to talk about you.’

‘Me. Why?’

‘Put the kettle on and I’ll tell you.’

Sir Thomas sat down at one of the little tables and ate one of the scones on a plate there, and, since it seemed that he intended to stay there until he had had his tea, Mary Jane put the plates down and went to put on the kettle.

By the time she came back with the teapot he had finished the scones and she fetched another plate, of fering them wordlessly.

‘You wanted to tell me something?’ she prompted.

He sat back in the little cane chair so that it creaked alarmingly, his teacup in his hand. ‘Yes...’

The thump on the door stopped him and when it was repeated he got up and unlocked it. The girl who came in flashed him a dazzling smile.

‘Hello, Mary Jane. I’m on my way to Cheltenham and it seemed a good idea to look you up.’ She pecked Mary Jane’s cheek and looked across at Sir Thomas. ‘Am I interrupting something?’

‘No,’ said Mary Jane rather more loudly than necessary. ‘This is Sir Thomas Latimer, an orthopaedic surgeon, he—that is, Margaret went to see him about her back and he has a patient in the village.’ She glanced at him, still standing by the door. ‘This is my sister, Felicity.’

Felicity was looking quite beautiful, of course; she dressed in the height of fashion and somehow the clothes always looked right on her. She had tinted her hair, too, and her make-up was exquisite, making the most of her dark eyes and the perfect oval of her face. She smiled at Sir Thomas now as he came to shake her hand, smiling down at her, holding her hand just a little longer than he need, making some easy light-hearted remark which made Felicity laugh.

Of course, he’s fallen for her, reflected Mary Jane; since Felicity had left home to join the glamorous world of fashion she had had a continuous flow of men at her beck and call and she couldn’t blame Sir Thomas; her sister was quite lovely. She said, ‘Felicity is a well-known model...’

‘I can’t imagine her being anything else,’ observed Sir Thomas gravely. ‘Are you staying here with Mary Jane?’

‘Lord, no. There’s only one bedroom and I’d be terribly in the way—she gets up at the crack of dawn to cook, don’t you, darling?’ She glanced around her. ‘Still making a living? Good. No, I’m booked in at the Queens at Cheltenham, I’m doing a dress show there tomorrow.’ She smiled at Sir Thomas. ‘I suppose you wouldn’t like to come? We could have dinner...?’

‘How delightful that would have been, although the dress show hardly appeals, but dinner with you would be another matter.’

The fool, thought Mary Jane fiercely. She had seen Felicity capture a man’s attention a dozen times and not really minded but now she did. Sir Thomas was like the rest of them but for some reason she had thought that he was different.

Felicity gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘Surely you could manage dinner? I don’t know anyone in Cheltenham.’

‘I’m on my way back to London,’ he told her. ‘Then I’m off to a seminar in Holland.’

Felicity said with a hint of sharpness, ‘A busy man—are you a very successful specialist or something, making your millions?’

‘I am a busy man, yes.’ He smiled charmingly and she turned away to say goodbye to Mary Jane.

‘Perhaps I’ll drop in as I go back,’ she suggested.

He opened the door for her and then walked with her to her car. Mary Jane could hear her sister’s laughter before she drove away. She began to clear away the tea tray, she still had to do some baking ready for the next day and Brimble was prowling round, grumbling for his supper.

‘We didn’t finish our tea,’ observed Sir Thomas mildly. He looked at her with questioning eyebrows.

Well, he is not getting another pot, reflected Mary Jane, and told him so, only politely. ‘I’ve a lot of baking to do and I expect you want to get back to London.’

Sir Thomas’s eyes gleamed with amusement. ‘Then I won’t keep you.’ He picked up the coat he had tossed over a chair. ‘You have a very beautiful sister, Mary Jane.’

‘Yes, we’re not a bit alike, are we?’

‘No, not in the least.’ A remark which did nothing to improve her temper. ‘And I haven’t had the opportunity to talk to you...’

‘I don’t suppose it was of the least importance.’ She spoke tartly. ‘You can tell me if we meet again, which isn’t very likely.’

He opened the door. ‘You are mistaken about a great many things, Mary Jane,’ he told her gravely. ‘Goodnight.’

She closed the door and bolted it and went back to the kitchen, not wishing to see him go.

She washed the cups and saucers with a good deal of noise, fed Brimble and got out the pastry board, the rolling pin and the ingredients for the scones. Her mind not being wholly on her work, her dough suffered a good deal of rough treatment; notwithstanding, the scones came from the oven nicely risen and golden brown. She cleared away and went upstairs, having lost all appetite for her supper.

Felicity hadn’t said when she would come again but she seldom did, dropping in from time to time when it suited her. When they had been younger she had always treated Mary Jane with a kind of tolerant affection, at the same time making no effort to take much interest in her. It had been inevitable that Mary Jane should stay at home with her aunt and uncle and, even when they had died and she had inherited the cottage, Felicity had made no effort to help in any way. She was earning big money by then but neither she nor, for that matter, Mary Jane had expected her to do anything to make life easier for her young sister. Mary Jane had accepted the fact that Felicity was a success in life, leading a glamorous existence, travelling, picking and choosing for whom she would work and, while she was glad that she had made such a success of her life, she had no wish to be a part of it and certainly she felt no envy. Common sense told her that a plain face and a tendency to stay in the background would never earn her a place in the world of fashion.

Not that she would have liked that, she was content with her tea-room and Brimble and her friends in the village, although it would have been nice to have had a little more money.

The Misses Potter came in for their usual tea on the following day.

Miss Mabel was walking with a stick now and was a changed woman. They had been to Cheltenham on the previous day, they told Mary Jane, and that nice Sir Thomas had said that she need not go to see him anymore, just go for a check-up to Dr Fellowes every few months.

‘He’s going away,’ she explained to Mary Jane, ‘to some conference or other, but we heard that he will be going to the Radcliffe Infirmary at Oxford when he gets back. Much sought-after,’ said Miss Mabel with satisfaction.

Of course, the village knew all about him calling at the tea-room and, Mary Jane being Mary Jane, her explanation that he had merely called for a cup of tea on his way back to London was accepted without comment. Felicity’s visit had also been noticed with rather more interest. Very few people took Vogue or Harpers and Queen but those who visited their dentist or doctor and read the magazines in the waiting-room were well aware of her fame.

She came a few days later during the morning, walking into the tea-room and giving the customers there a pleasant surprise. She was wearing a suede outfit in red with boots in black leather and a good deal of gold jewellery. Not at all the kind of clothes the village was used to; even the doctor’s wife and Margaret, not to mention the lady of the manor, wouldn’t have risked wearing such an outfit. She smiled around her, confident that she was creating an impression.

‘Hello, Mary Jane,’ she said smilingly, pleased with the mild sensation she had caused. ‘Can you spare me a cup of coffee? I’m on my way back to town.’

She sat down at one of the tables and Mary Jane, busy with serving, said, ‘Hello, Felicity. Yes, of course, but will you help yourself? I’m quite busy.’

The customers went presently, leaving the two sisters alone. Mary Jane collected up cups and saucers and tidied the tables and Felicity said rather impatiently, ‘Oh, do sit down for a minute, you can wash up after I’ve gone.’

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.

CHAPTER THREE

OCTOBER, sliding towards November, had turned wet and chilly and customers were sparse. Mary Jane turned out cupboards, washed and polished and cut down on the baking. There were still customers glad of a cup of tea, home from shopping expeditions—or motorists on their way to Cheltenham or Oxford stopped for coffee. More prosperous tea-rooms closed down during the winter months and their owners went to Barbados or California to spend their summer’s profits, but Mary Jane’s profits weren’t large enough for that. Besides, since she lived over the tea-room she might just as well keep it open and get what custom there was.

On this particular morning, since it was raining hard and moreover was a Monday, she was pleased to hear the doorbell tinkle as she set the percolator on the stove. It wasn’t a customer, though. Oliver stood there, just inside the door.

She wasn’t particularly pleased to see him but she wished him a cheerful good morning.

‘I’m just back from the States,’ declared Oliver pompously. ‘Margaret tells me that you have behaved most unkindly towards her. I should have thought that you could at least have stayed with her and made sure that she was quite comfortable.’

‘But she is not ill—Sir Thomas Latimer said so. He said that she should take more exercise and not lie around.’

Oliver’s eyes bulged with annoyance. ‘I consider you to be a heartless girl, Mary Jane. I shall think twice before asking you to do any small favour...’

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