CHAPTER SEVEN
MARY JANE saw him coming, and delight at seeing him again swamped every other feeling. She could feel herself going pale, as indeed she was, and her heart thumped so strongly that she trembled so that the glass she was holding wobbled alarmingly. He reached her side, took the glass from her and wished her good evening, adding, ‘Did you think that I would not be here?’
He was smiling down at her and she only stopped herself just in time from telling him how wonderful it was to see him. She said instead, ‘Well, it’s a long way from London and I dare say you’ve been busy with your patients and—and had lots of invitations to spend the evening there.’
‘Oh, yes, indeed, but I wished to spend the evening with my mother—she came over with me.’
She followed her train of thought. ‘Isn’t Felicity in London?’
He was still smiling but his eyes were cold. ‘Yes, she sent you her love.’ He might have added that she had wanted him to take her to a party at one of the big hotels and he had made the excuse that he was going to his mother’s home. She had said sharply, ‘How dull for you, Thomas. I don’t suppose you’ll see Mary Jane, but if you do or if you meet anyone who knows her send my love, will you?’
Mary Jane said in a wooden voice, ‘It’s a pity she isn’t here...’ She was unable to finish for there was a sudden hush as Big Ben began to strike the hour. At its last stroke there were cries of ‘Happy New Year!’ as the champagne corks were popped and everyone started kissing everyone else. Mary Jane looked at the bland face beside her and said, meaning every word, ‘I hope you have a very happy New Year, Sir Thomas.’
He smiled suddenly. ‘I hope that we both shall, Mary Jane.’ He bent and kissed her, a swift, hard kiss as unlike a conventional social peck as chalk from cheese. It took her breath but before she could get it back Matt had caught her by the hand and whirled her away to be kissed breathless by all the men there. She disentangled herself, laughing, and found Mrs Latimer standing close by.
‘My dear, a happy New Year,’ said Sir Thomas’s mother, ‘and how nice to see you enjoying yourself. You lead far too quiet a life.’
Mary Jane wished her a happy New Year in her turn. ‘I’ve just been talking to Sir Thomas.’ She blushed brightly, remembering his kiss, and Mrs Latimer just hid a smile.
‘He drove down earlier this evening, and he will go back early tomorrow morning—he had made up his mind to be here.’
‘He shouldn’t work so hard,’ said Mary Jane, and blushed again, much to her annoyance. ‘What I mean is, he must get so tired.’ She added, ‘It’s none of my business, please forgive me.’
‘You’re quite right,’ observed Mrs Latimer. ‘His work is his whole life although I think, when he marries, his wife and children will always come first.’
The very thought hurt; Mary Jane murmured suitably and said that she would have to find her hostess. ‘Mrs Bennett kindly said that someone would drive me back as soon after midnight as possible.’ She wished her companion goodbye and found Mrs Bennett at the far end of the room talking to Sir Thomas. As Mary Jane got within hearing, she said, ‘There you are, my dear. What a pity that you must go but I quite understand...was it fun?’
‘I’ve had a marvellous evening, Mrs Bennett, and thank you very much. I’ll get my coat. Shall I wait in the hall and would it be all right if you said goodbye to everyone for me?’
‘Of course, child. Sir Thomas is taking you home.’
‘Oh, but Mrs Latimer is here, he’ll—that is, you will have to come back for her.’ She looked at him and found him smiling.
‘The Elliots are driving her back presently.’ He spoke placidly but she couldn’t very well argue with him. She fetched her coat and got into the Rolls without speaking, only when they were away from the house and out of the village she said,
‘I’m sorry to break up your evening.’
He said coolly, ‘Not at all, Mary Jane, I had no intention of staying and it is only a slight detour to drop you off before I go back.’
A damping remark which she found difficult to answer but when the silence got too long she tried again. ‘Did you bring Watson with you?’
‘No—I’m only away for the night and I’ll be back to take him for his run tomorrow before I go to my rooms. Tremble will look after him.’
‘Won’t you be tired?’ She added hastily, ‘I don’t mean to be nosy.’
‘I appreciate your concern. I’m not operating tomorrow and I have only a handful of private patients to see later in the day.’
The conversation, she felt, was hardly scintillating. The silence lasted rather longer this time. Presently she ventured, ‘It was a very nice party, wasn’t it?’
He said mildly, ‘Do stop making light conversation, Mary Jane...’
‘With pleasure,’ she snapped. ‘There is nothing more—more boring than trying to be polite to someone who has no idea of the social niceties.’ She paused to draw an indignant breath, rather pleased with the remark, and then doubtful as to whether she had been rather too outspoken. His low laugh gave her no clue. She turned her head away to look out at the dark nothingness outside. Where was her good sense, she thought wildly; how could she have fallen in love with this taciturn man who had no more interest in her than he might have in a row of pins? She would forget him the moment she could get into her cottage and shut the door on him.
He drew up gently before her small front door, took the key from her hand and got out and opened it before coming back to open the door of the car for her.
Switching on the tea-room lights, he remarked, ‘A cup of tea would be nice.’
‘No, it wouldn’t,’ said Mary Jane flatly. ‘Thank you for bringing me home, although I wish you hadn’t.’ She put a hand on the door, encouraging him to leave, a useless gesture since the door wasn’t over-sturdy and his vast person was as unyielding as a tree trunk.
He laughed suddenly. ‘Why do you laugh?’ she asked sharply.
‘If I told you you wouldn’t believe me. Tell me, Mary Jane, why did you wish that I hadn’t brought you home?’
She said soberly, ‘I can’t tell you that.’ She held out a hand. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve been rude.’
He took her hand between his. ‘Goodnight, Mary Jane.’ His smile was so kind that she could have wept.
He went out to his car and got in and drove away and she locked up and turned off the lights, gave Brimble an extra supper and took herself off to bed. It was another year, she thought, lying in bed, warmed by the hot water bottle and Brimble’s small body. She wondered what it might bring.
It brought, surprisingly, Felicity, sitting beside a rather plump young man with bags under his eyes in a Mercedes. Felicity flung open the tea-shop door with a flourish. ‘I just had to wish you a happy New Year,’ she cried, and then paused to look around her. The little place was empty except for Mary Jane, who was on her knees hammering down a strip of torn lino by the counter. She got to her feet and turned round and the young man who had followed Felicity said, ‘Good lord, is this your sister, darling?’
Mary Jane eyed him; this was not the beginning of a beautiful friendship, she reflected, but all the same she wished him good morning politely and kissed her sister’s cheek. ‘I’m spring cleaning,’ she explained.
Felicity tossed off the cashmere wrap she had flung over her haute couture suit. ‘Darling, how awful for you, isn’t there a char or someone in this dump to do it for you?’
There didn’t seem much point in answering that. ‘Would you like a cup of coffee?’ She waved at two chairs upended on to one of the tables. ‘If you’d like to sit down it won’t take long.’
Felicity said carelessly, ‘This is Monty.’ She went over to the table. ‘Well, darling, give me a chair to sit on...’
Mary Jane thought that he didn’t look capable of lifting a cup of tea let alone a chair and certainly he did it unwillingly. She went into the kitchen and collected cups and saucers while the coffee brewed and presently she went back to ask. ‘Are you going somewhere or just driving round?’
‘Riding round. It’s very flat in town after New Year and I’ve no bookings until next week. Then it will be Spain, thank heaven. I need the sun and the warmth.’
Mary Jane let that pass, poured the coffee and took the tray across to the table and poured it for the three of them, rather puzzled as to why Felicity had come. She didn’t have to wonder for long. ‘Have you seen anything of Thomas?’ asked Felicity. ‘Well, I don’t suppose you have but you may have heard something of him—after all, his mother doesn’t live so far away, does she? She made a great fuss of you when you had the flu.’
She didn’t wait for an answer, which was a good thing. ‘I see quite a lot of him in town; I must say he’s marvellous to go around with...’
‘I say, steady on,’ said Monty. ‘I’m here, you know.’
Felicity gurgled with laughter. ‘Of course you are, darling, and you’re such fun.’ She leaned across the table and patted his arm. ‘But I do have my future to think of—a nice steady husband who adores me and can keep me in the style I’ve set my heart on ...’
‘You said you loved me,’ complained Monty, and Mary Jane wondered if they had forgotten that she was there, sitting between them.
‘Of course I do, Monty—marrying some well-heeled eminent surgeon won’t make any difference to that.’
Mary Jane went into the kitchen. Felicity must be talking about Sir Thomas. If Felicity had been alone she might have talked to her about him and discovered if she were joking; her sister was selfish and uncaring of anyone but herself but there was affection between them; she could at least have discovered if she loved Sir Thomas. But the presence of Monty precluded that. She went back into the tea-room and found Felicity arranging the cashmere stole. ‘Well, we’re off, darling—lunch at that nice restaurant in Oxford, and then home to the bright lights.’ She kissed Mary Jane. ‘I’ll send you a card from sunny Spain. I must try to see Thomas, I’m sure he could do with a day or two in the sun.’
Monty shook Mary Jane’s hand. ‘I would never have guessed that you two were sisters.’ He shook his head, ‘I mean to say...’ He had a limp handshake.
Mary Jane put the ‘Closed’ sign on the door and went back to knocking in nails. Thoughts, most of them unhappy as well as angry, raced round her head. Surely, she told herself, Sir Thomas wasn’t foolish enough to fall in love with Felicity, but of course if he really loved her—hadn’t he said that loving and being in love were two different things? She forced herself to stop thinking about him.
After a few days customers began to trickle in; the Misses Potter came as usual for their tea and several ladies from the village popped in on their way to or from the January sales; life returned to its normal routine. Mary Jane sternly suppressed the thought of Sir Thomas, not altogether successfully, when a card from Felicity came. She had written on the back, ‘Gorgeous weather, here for another week. Pity he has to return on Saturday. Be good. Felicity’.
Mary Jane ignored the last few words, she had no other choice but to be good, but, reading the rest of the scrawled words, she frowned. Felicity had hinted that she would see Sir Thomas and persuade him to go to Spain with her. It looked as though she had succeeded.
‘I suppose the cleverer you are the sillier you get,’ said Mary Jane in such a venomous tone that Brimble laid back his ears.
She was setting out the coffee-cups on Saturday morning when the first of the motorcyclists stopped before her door. He was joined by two others and the three of them came into the tea-room. Young men, encased in black leather and talking noisily. They took off their helmets and flung them down on one of the tables, pulled out chairs and sat down. They weren’t local men and they stared at her until she felt uneasy.
‘Coffee?’ she asked. ‘And anything to eat?’
‘Coffee’ll do, darlin’, and a plate of whatever there is.’ He laughed. ‘And not much of that in this hole.’ The other two laughed with him and she went into the kitchen to pour the coffee. Before doing so she picked up Brimble and popped him on the stairs and shut the door on him. She wasn’t sure why she had done it; she wasn’t a timid girl and the men would drink the coffee and go. She put the coffee on the table, then fetched a plate of scones and went back to the kitchen where she had been making pastry for the sausage rolls. She could see them from where she stood at the kitchen table and they seemed quiet enough, their heads close together, talking softly and sniggering. Presently they called for more coffee and ten minutes later they scraped back their chairs and put on their helmets. She took the bill over with an inward sigh of relief, but instead of taking it, the man she offered it to caught her hand and held it fast. ‘Expect us to pay for that slop?’ he wanted to know.
‘Yes,’ said Mary Jane calmly. ‘I do, and please leave go of my hand.’
‘Got a tongue in ’er ‘ead, too. An’ what’ll you do if we don’t pay up, Miss High and Mighty?’
‘You will pay up. You asked for coffee and scones and I gave you them, so now you’ll pay for what you’ve had.’
‘Cor—got a sharp tongue, too, ’asn’t she?’ He tightened his grip. ‘’Ave ter teach ’er a lesson, won’t we, boys?’
They swept the cups and saucers, the coffee-pot and the empty plates on to the floor and one of them went around treading on the bits of china, crushing them to fragments. The chairs went next, hurled across the room and then the tables. The little vases of dried flowers they threw at walls and all this was done without a word.
She was frightened but she was furiously angry too, she lifted a foot, laced into a sensible shoe, and kicked the man holding her hand. It couldn’t have hurt much through all that leather, but it took him by surprise. He wrenched her round with a bellow of rage.
‘Why, you little...’
Sir Thomas, on his way to spend a weekend with his mother and at the same time call upon Mary Jane, slowed the car as the tea-room came into view and then stopped at the sight of the motorbikes. He got out, saw the anxious elderly faces peering from the cottages on either side of Mary Jane’s home, crossed the narrow pavement in one stride and threw open her door. A man who kept his feelings well under control, he allowed them free rein at the sight of her white face...
Mary Jane wished very much to faint on to a comfortable sofa, but she sidled to the remains of the counter and hung on to it. This was no time to faint; Sir Thomas had his hands full and apparently he was enjoying it, too. The little room seemed full of waving arms and legs. The man who had been holding her was tripped up neatly by one of Sir Thomas’s elegantly shod feet and landed with a crash into the debris of tables and chairs which left Sir Thomas free to deal with the two other men. Subdued and scared by this large, silent man who knocked them around like ninepins, they huddled in a corner by their fallen comrade, only anxious to be left alone.
‘Any one of you move and I’ll break every bone in his body,’ observed Sir Thomas in the mildest of voices, and turned his attention to Mary Jane.
His arm was large and comforting and as steady as a rock. ‘Don’t, whatever you do, faint,’ he begged her, ‘for there’s nowhere for you to lie down.’ Nothing in his kind, impersonal voice and his equally impersonal arm hinted at his great wish to pick her up and drive off with her and never let her go again. ‘The police will be along presently; someone must have seen that something was wrong and warned them.’ He looked down at the top of her head. ‘I’ll get a chair from the kitchen...’
She was dimly aware of someone coming to the door then, old Rob from his cottage by the church where he lived with his two sons. ‘The Coats lad came running to tell something was amiss. The police is coming and my two boys’ll be along in a couple of shakes.’ He cast an eye over the three men huddled together. ‘Varmints!’ He turned a shrewd eye upon Sir Thomas. ‘Knock ’em out, did yer? Nice bit of work, I’d say.’
The police, Rob’s two sons and the rector arrived together. Not that Mary Jane cared. Let them all come, she reflected; a cup of tea and her bed was all she wanted. The bed was out of the question, but the rector, a meek and kindly man, made tea which she drank with chattering teeth, spilling a good deal of it, thankful that Sir Thomas was dealing with the police so that she needed to answer only essential questions before they marched the three men away to the waiting van. ‘You’ll need to come to the station on Tuesday morning, miss,’ the senior office said. ‘Nine o’clock suit you? Have you got a car?’
‘I’ll bring Miss Seymour, Officer,’ said Sir Thomas and he nodded an affable goodbye and turned to old Rob. ‘Will you wait while I see Mary Jane up to her bed?’
‘I do not want...’ began Mary Jane pettishly, not knowing what she was wanting.
‘No, of course you don’t.’ Sir Thomas’s voice was soothing. ‘But in half an hour or so when you have got over the nasty shock you had, you will think clearly again. Besides, I want to have a look at that wrist.’
She went upstairs, urged on by a firm hand on her back, and found Brimble waiting anxiously on the tiny landing. The sight of his small furry face was too much; she burst into tears, sobbing and sniffing and grizzling into Sir Thomas’s shoulder. He waited patiently until the sobs petered out, offered a handkerchief, observing that there was nothing like a good cry and at the same time tossing back the quilt on her bed.
‘Half an hour,’ he told her, tucking it around her and lifting Brimble on to the bed. ‘I’ll be back.’
Downstairs, he found old Rob and his sons waiting. ‘Ah, yes, I wonder if I might have your help...?’ He talked for a few minutes and when old Rob nodded, money changed hands and they bade him goodbye and went off down the village street. Sir Thomas watched them go and then went to let the patient Watson out of the car and get his bag, let himself into the tea-room again and go soft-footed upstairs with Watson hard on his heels.
Mary Jane had fallen asleep, her hair all over the place, her mouth slightly open. She had a little colour now and her nose was pink from crying. Sir Thomas studied her lovingly and then turned his attention to her hand lying outside the quilt. The wrist was discoloured and a little swollen. The man’s grasp must have been brutal. He suppressed the wave of rage which shook him and sat down to wait for her to wake up.
Which she did presently, the long lashes sweeping up to reveal the glorious eyes. Sir Thomas spent a few seconds admiring them. ‘Better now? I’d like to take a look at that wrist. Does it hurt?’
‘Yes.’ she sat up in bed and dragged the quilt away. ‘But I’m perfectly all right now. Thank you very much for helping me. I mustn’t keep you...’
He was holding her hand, examining her wrist. ‘This is quite nasty. I’ll put a crêpe bandage on for the time being and we’ll see about it later. Can you manage to pack a bag with a few things? I’m taking you to stay with my mother for a few days.’
She sat up very straight. ‘I can’t possibly, there’s such a lot to do here, I must get someone to help me clear up and I must see about tables and chairs and cups and saucers and...’ She paused, struck by the thought that she had no money to buy these essentials and yet she would have to have them, they were her very livelihood. She would have to borrow, but from whom? Oliver? Certainly not Oliver. Felicity? She might offer to help if she knew about it.
Sir Thomas, watching her, guessed her thoughts and said bracingly, ‘There is really nothing you can do for a day or two.’ He added vaguely, ‘The police, you know. Far better to spend a little time making up your mind what is to be done first.’
‘But your mother...’
‘She will be delighted to see you again.’ He got up and reached down the case on the top of the wardrobe. ‘Is Brimble’s basket downstairs? I’ll get it while you pack—just enough for a week will do. Do you want to leave any messages with anyone? What about the milk and so on?’
‘Mrs Adams next door will tell him not to call, and there’s food in the fridge...’
‘Leave it to me.’
She changed into her suit, packed the jersey dress, undies and a dressing-gown, her few cosmetics, then she did her hair in a perfunctory fashion and found scarf and gloves, out-of-date black court shoes, wellpolished, and she burrowed in the back of a drawer and got the few pounds she kept for an emergency. By then, Sir Thomas was calling up the stairs to see if she was ready. He came to fetch her case while she picked up Brimble, carried him down to his basket and fastened him in. She was swept through the ruins of the tea-room before she had time to look round her, popped into the car with the animals on the back seat while he went back to lock the door. He came over to the car then. ‘I think it might be a good idea to leave the key with Mrs Adams,’ he suggested and she agreed readily, her thoughts busy with ways and means.
A tap on the window made her turn her head. The rector was there, so was his sister, Miss Kemble and Mrs Stokes and hurrying up the street was the shopkeeper. Mary Jane opened the window and a stream of sympathy poured in. ‘If only we had known,’ declared Miss Kemble, ‘we could have come to your assistance.’
‘But you did, at least the rector did. A cup of tea was exactly what I needed most! It was all a bit of a shock:
The shopkeeper poked her head round Mrs Stokes’ shoulder. ‘A proper shame it is,’ she declared. ‘No one is safe these days. A good thing you’ve got the doctor here to take you to his mum. You ’ave a good rest, love—the place’ll be as good as new again, don’t you worry.’
They clustered round Sir Thomas as he came back to the car and after a few minutes’ talk he got into his seat, lifted a hand in farewell and drove away. ‘I like your rector,’ he observed, ‘but his sister terrifies me.’
Which struck her as so absurd that she laughed, which was what he had meant her to do.
He didn’t allow her to talk about the disastrous morning either but carried on a steady flow of remarks to which, out of politeness, she was obliged to reply. When they arrived at his mother’s house, she was met by that lady with sincere pleasure and no mention as to why she had come. ‘We’ve put you in the room you had when you were here,’ she was told. ‘And have you brought your nice cat with you?’
Mrs Latimer broke off to offer a cheek to her son and receive Watson’s pleased greeting. ‘Would you like to go up to your room straight away? Lunch will be in ten minutes or so. Come down and have a drink first.’
The house was warm and welcoming and Mrs Beaver, coming into the hall, beamed at her with heartwarming pleasure. It was like coming home, thought Mary Jane, skipping upstairs behind that lady, only of course it wasn’t, but it was nice to pretend...
No one mentioned the morning’s events at lunch. The talk was of the village, a forthcoming trip Sir Thomas was to make to the Middle East and whether Mrs Latimer should go to London to do some shopping. Somehow they contrived to include Mary Jane in their conversation so that presently she was emboldened to ask, ‘Are you going away for a long time?’
‘If all goes well, I should be away for a week, perhaps less. I’ve several good reasons for wanting to get back as soon as possible.’
Was one of them Felicity? wondered Mary Jane, and Mrs Latimer put the thought into words by asking, ‘Have you seen anything of that glamorous sister of yours lately, Mary Jane?’
‘No. I’m not sure where she is—she was in Spain but I don’t know how long she will be there.’
Sir Thomas leaned back in his chair, his eyes on her face. ‘Felicity is in London,’ he observed casually.
It was quite true, thought Mary Jane, love did hurt, a physical pain which cut her like a knife. Somehow she was going to have to live with it. ‘Perhaps you would like to go and see her?’ Sir Thomas went on.
She spoke too quickly. ‘No, no, there’s no need, I mean, she’s always so—that is, she works so hard she wouldn’t be able to spare the time.’
She had gone rather red in the face and he said blandly, ‘I don’t suppose she could do much to help you,’ and when his mother suggested that they have their coffee in the drawing-room she got up thankfully.
They had had their coffee and were sitting comfortably before the fire when Sir Thomas asked abruptly, ‘Have you any money, Mary Jane?’
She was taken by surprise; there was no time to think up a fib and anyway, what would be the point of that? ‘Well, no, I mean I have a few pounds—I keep them hidden at the cottage but I’ve brought them with me and there’s about forty pounds in the post office.’ She achieved a smile. ‘I shall be able to borrow for the tea-room.’ She added hastily, ‘I’m not sure who yet, but I’ve friends in the village.’
‘Good. As I said, there’s nothing to be done for a day or two; besides, I think that wrist should be X-rayed. I’ll take you up to town when I go on Monday morning—I’m operating all day but I’ll bring you back in the evening. Someone can take you to my house and Mrs Tremble will look after you until I’m ready.’
He smiled at her. ‘You are about to argue but I beg you not to; I’m not putting myself out in the least.’
‘It only aches a little.’
‘You may have got a cracked bone.’ He glanced at her bandaged wrist. He asked mildly, ‘What had you done to annoy the man?’
‘I kicked him.’
‘Quite right too,’ said Mrs Latimer. ‘What a sensible girl you are. I would have done the same. Do you suppose it hurt?’
He went away presently to make some phone calls and Mrs Latimer said cosily, ‘Now my dear, do tell me exactly what happened if you can bear to talk about it. What a brave girl you are. I should never have dared to ask for my money.’
So Mary Jane told her and discovered that talking about it made it seem less awful than she supposed. True, the problem of borrowing money and starting up again was at the moment impossible to solve but as her companion so bracingly remarked, things had a way of turning out better than one might expect. On this optimistic note she bore Mary Jane away to the conservatory at the back of the house to admire two camellias in full bloom.
The three of them had tea round the fire presently and sat talking until Sir Thomas was called to the phone and Mrs Latimer suggested that Mary Jane might like to unpack and then make sure that Mrs Beaver had prepared the right supper for Brimble, who had spent a day after his heart, curled up before the fire. Mary Jane went to her room, bearing him with her; there was some time before dinner and perhaps mother and son would like to be alone. So she stayed there, spending a lot of time before the looking-glass, trying out various hair-styles and then, disheartened by the fact that they didn’t improve her looks in the slightest, pinning it in her usual fashion, applied lipstick and powder and, when the gong sounded, went downstairs, leaving Brimble asleep on the bed.
Sir Thomas and his mother were in the drawing-room and he got up at once and invited her to sit down and offered her a drink.
‘But the gong’s gone...’
He smiled. ‘I don’t suppose anything will spoil if we dine five minutes later. Did you fall asleep?’
He was making it easy for her and Mrs Latimer said comfortably, ‘All that excitement—you must have an early night, my dear.’
They dined presently and Mary Jane discovered that she was hungry. The mushrooms in garlic sauce, beef Wellington and crème brulée were delicious and just right—as was the conversation; about nothing much, touching lightly upon any number of subjects and never once on her trying morning. As they got up from the table, Sir Thomas said casually,
‘Shall we go for a walk tomorrow, Mary Jane? I enjoy walking at this time of year but perhaps you don’t care for it?’
‘Oh, but I do.’ The prospect of being with him had sent the colour into her cheeks. ‘I’d like that very much.’
‘Good — after lunch, then. We go to church in the morning—come with us if you would like to.’
‘I’d like that, too.’
‘Splendid, I’ve fixed up an appointment for you on Monday morning—half-past nine—we’ll have to leave around seven o’clock. I’m operating at ten o‘clock.’
‘I get up early. Would someone mind feeding Brimble? He’ll be quite good on the balcony.’
‘Don’t worry about him, my dear.’ Mrs Latimer was bending her head over an embroidery frame. ‘Mrs Beaver and I will keep an eye on him. Thomas, did you bring any work with you?’
‘I’m afraid so—there’s a paper I have to read at the next seminar.’
‘Then go away and read it or write it, or whatever you need to do. Mary Jane and I are going to have a nice gossip—I want to tell her all about Mrs Bennett’s daughter—she’s just got engaged...’
The rest of the evening passed pleasantly. Sir Thomas reappeared after an hour or so and shortly afterwards, in the kindest possible manner, suggested that she might like to go to bed. ‘Rather a dull evening for you,’ he apologised.
‘Dull? It was heavenly.’ Had he any idea what it was like to spend almost every evening on one’s own even if one were making pastry or polishing tables and chairs? Well, of course he hadn’t, he would spend his evenings with friends, going to the theatre, dining out and probably seeing as much of Felicity as possible. The sadness of her face at the thought caused him to stare at her thoughtfully. He wanted to ask her why she was sad, but, not liking him enough to answer, she would give him a chilly look from those lovely eyes and murmur something. He still wasn’t sure if she liked him, and even if she did, she had erected an invisible barrier between them. He was going to need a great deal of patience.
She hadn’t been expected to sleep but she did, to be wakened in the morning by Mrs Beaver with a tray of tea and the news that it was a fine day but very cold. ‘Breakfast in half an hour, miss, and take my advice and wear something warm; the church is like an ice-box.’
She had brought her winter coat with her but it wouldn’t go over her suit. It would have to be the jersey dress. She dressed under Brimble’s watchful eye and went down to breakfast.
That night, curled up in her comfortable bed, she reviewed her day. It had been even better that she had hoped for. The three of them had gone to church and, despite the chill from the ancient building, she had loved every minute of the service, standing between Sir Thomas and his mother, and after lunch she had put on her sensible shoes, tied a scarf over her head and gone with him on the promised walk. It was a pity, she reflected, that they had talked about rather dull matters: politics, the state of the turnip crop on a neighbouring farm, the weather, Watson. She had wanted to talk about Felicity but she hadn’t dared and since he hadn’t mentioned the tea-room she hadn’t liked to say anything about it. After all, he had done a great deal to help her; she was a grown woman, used to being on her own, capable of dealing with things like loans and painting and papering. Women were supposed to be equal to men now, weren’t they? She didn’t feel equal to Sir Thomas, but she supposed that she would have to do her best. He had been kind and friendly in a detached way but she suspected that she wasn’t the kind of girl he would choose for a companion. She would have to go to London with him in the morning to have her wrist X-rayed, although it didn’t seem necessary to her, but once she was back here she would go back to her cottage and then she need never see him again. She went to sleep then, feeling sad, and woke in the small hours, suddenly afraid of the future. It would be hard to begin again and it would be even harder never to see Sir Thomas, or worse—if he married Felicity, she would have to see him from time to time. She wouldn’t be able to bear that, but of course she would have to. She didn’t go to sleep again but lay making plans as to how to open the tea-room as quickly as possible with the least possible expense. She would need a miracle.