FABIAN HAD COME in the Jaguar, so that Mary Jane, with an eye to the weather, tied a silk scarf over her head in place of the unbecoming hat, wishing she had had the sense to bring her sheepskin jacket with her. It was barely November but already cold, and an open car, although great fun, needed suitable clothes, but once they were on their way, she didn’t feel cold at all; she glowed with excitement and pleasure. An outing would be delightful, especially if they could remain friends for an hour.
Her patient, in a mellow mood, had agreed to his daughter keeping him company for a short time, only begging Mary Jane to return at the earliest possible moment. His daughter had been rather more urgent in her request not to be left for longer than was absolutely necessary with her irascible parent; she had also given Mary Jane a shopping list of things which she declared she urgently needed. It was a miscellany of knitting wool, embroidery silks, Gentlemen’s Relish, chocolate biscuits and a particular brand of bottled peach which could only be obtained at a certain shop in the city. Mary Jane accepted it obligingly, to have it taken from her at once by Fabian, who put it in his pocket with a brisk ‘I’ll see to these,’ and an injunction to hurry herself up. So here she was, sitting snugly beside Fabian, who was making short work of the few miles to Groningen.
She found the city very fine, with its two big squares and its old buildings. Fabian, going slowly through the traffic, pointed out the imposing, towering spire of St Martin’s church before he turned off the main street and into a tree-lined one, bisected by a canal. The houses here were patrician, flat-faced and massive, each of them with its great front door reached by a double flight of steps. The sound of the traffic came faintly down its length so that it was easy to hear the rustle of the wind in the trees’ bare branches.
‘This is beautiful,’ declared Mary Jane with satisfaction.
Fabian stopped before one of the houses. ‘Yes, I think so too. I’m glad you like it.’
‘Is this the lawyer’s house?’ she asked him.
‘No, it’s mine. We’ll go inside and get those papers dealt with.’
She hadn’t thought much about where he lived and when she had, it had been a vague picture of some smallish town house. This mansion took her by surprise, and she was still more surprised when they went inside. The hall was long and narrow and panelled waist high, with rich red carpeting on its floor to cover the black and white of its marble. The wall chandeliers were exquisite and there were flowers on the wall table. She wanted to take a more leisurely look, but an elderly woman appeared from the back of the house, was introduced as Mevrouw Hol and swept her away to an elegantly appointed cloakroom, where she tidied her hair, did things to her face and left her outdoor things before being led to a room close by where Fabian was waiting for her.
She took it to be a study, as it was lined with bookshelves and its main furniture was a massive desk and an equally massive chair, but the chairs by the fire were of a comfortably normal size. Mary Jane took the one offered her and sighed with content; the room was warm and light and airy and quite, quite different from the over-furnished house in which Fabian’s uncle lived.
He sat down at the desk now, saying: ‘You won’t mind having coffee here? We can see to these papers at the same time, they’ll not take long.’
She drank her coffee and then, under his direction, signed the papers, each one of which he carefully explained to her before asking her to do so. When she had finished she said with faint apology, ‘I’m sorry you’ve had all this extra work, but I suppose once it’s seen to, you won’t need to bother, any more.’
‘On the contrary.’ He didn’t smile as he spoke and she felt chilled. ‘If you have finished your coffee perhaps you would like to come with me and get Emma’s shopping—and by the way, I believe that I promised you some money for your own use.’ He opened a drawer in the desk and handed her a little bundle of notes. ‘There are a thousand gulden there. If you need more, please ask me.’
She looked at him round-eyed. ‘Whatever should I want with all that money?’
He smiled faintly. ‘I imagine that you will find things to buy with it.’
She became thoughtful. ‘Well, yes—there are one or two things…’
He went back to his desk and silently handed her a pad and pencil. A few minutes later she looked up. ‘You know,’ she informed him in surprise, ‘I’ve made quite a list.’
‘I thought maybe you would. Would a store suit you or do you want a boutique?’
She shot him a suspicious glance which he countered with a grave detachment. How did he know about boutiques? she wondered, and assured him that a large store would be much easier. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can, she assured him.
‘No need—I told Cousin Emma that we shouldn’t be back until after tea. We’ll lunch out and you will have hours of time.’
Mary Jane had forgotten how pleasant it was to go shopping with plenty of money to spend. By the time Fabian had worked his way through the list Emma had given them, it was burning a hole in her purse, and when Fabian left her outside a large store, assuring her that most of the assistants spoke English and she had nothing to worry about and that he would be waiting for her in an hour’s time, she could hardly wait to start on a tour of inspection. Fabian had been right, there was no difficulty in making herself understood; everyone seemed to speak English. She bought everything which she had written on her list and a good deal besides, and when, strolling through the hat department, she saw a velvet beret which would go very well with her coat, she bought that too and, a little drunk with the success of her shopping, put it on.
She was only ten minutes late at the store entrance and when she would have apologised to Fabian for keeping him waiting he said to surprise her, ‘Late? Are you? I never expected you back within the hour and a half—we agreed upon an hour, if you remember. We’ll have lunch and if you have anything else to buy you can get it later.’
They lunched at the Hotel Baulig, and as they were both hungry they started the meal with erwtensoep—a thick pea soup enriched with morsels of bacon and ham and sausage, went on to a dish of salmon with asparagus tips and quenelles of sole, and having finished this delicacy, agreed upon fresh fruit salad to round off their lunch. They sat a considerable time over their coffee, for rather to Mary Jane’s surprise, they found plenty to talk about, and although she thought Fabian rather reserved in his manner, at least he was agreeable.
They did a little more shopping after they left the hotel, for it seemed sense to her to buy one or two presents while she had the opportunity. It was when she had declared herself satisfied with her purchases that Fabian remarked, ‘But you have bought nothing for yourself.’
‘Yes, I have, lots of things—and a hat.’ She waited for him to notice the beret and was deeply mortified when he said: ‘Oh, did you? why don’t you wear it, then?’ He glanced at their parcels. ‘It must be a very small one, there’s nothing here which looks like a hat bag.’
She boiled, but silently. She wasn’t sure if he was teasing her or if he took so little notice of her that he hadn’t even noticed what she was wearing. Neither of these ideas were very complimentary to herself. She answered with a sweetness which any of her closer friends would have suspected, ‘I know where it is. I think I’ve finished, thank you. I expect you would like to be getting back to Midwoude.’
He gave her a searching look. ‘Why?’
‘Well, you’ve done your good deed for today, haven’t you?’ Her voice was light despite his look.
‘Indeed yes, and it’s made me thirsty. Shall we have tea somewhere?’
She kept her voice light. ‘No, thank you. I think I should like to go back now. I’m most grateful to you…’
His tone was curt. ‘Spare the thanks,’ he begged her coldly, and thereafter sustained an ultra-polite conversation during their short journey back to Midwoude where he handed her and her packages over to Jaap, wished her a distant good evening, got back into his car and drove away, a great deal too fast.
Emma van der Blocq, pouring a late tea in the small room at the back of the house where the two of them sometimes sat, professed surprise as Mary Jane joined her. ‘I didn’t expect you back until much later,’ she declared happily, ‘but surely Fabian could have stayed for tea—even for dinner?’ She interrupted herself. ‘No, perhaps not for dinner—he goes out a good deal, you know. Where did you have lunch, Mary Jane?’
She remembered the name of the hotel and felt rather pleased with herself about it, and Cousin Emma nodded, her interest aroused.
‘A very nice place. Of course he really prefers the Hotel at Warffrum—Borg de Breedenburg—but that is for his more romantic outings.’ She smiled at Mary Jane. ‘He has girl-friends, as you can imagine—I wonder why he didn’t take you there?’
‘I imagine,’ said Mary Jane in a dry little voice, ‘that I don’t qualify for a romantic background.’
‘No, perhaps not,’ agreed her companion with disconcerting directness. ‘Fabian only takes out very pretty girls, you know—and always beautifully dressed, as you can imagine.’ She smiled again, quite oblivious of any feelings Mary Jane might possess. ‘He’s a most observant man.’
‘You surprise me,’ said Mary Jane waspishly, thinking of the lovely velvet beret he hadn’t even noticed. ‘And now I’ll just go up and see how Jonkheer van der Blocq is. Did he have a quiet day?’
Her companion’s face crumpled ominously. ‘Oh, my dear, however did I manage before you came? He was so cross, and he refused to take his pills. Doctor Trouw will be here presently and he will be so annoyed.’ She sounded so upset that Mary Jane paused on her way to the door.
‘He’s far too nice to get cross with you,’ she assured her, ‘and he knows that it isn’t always easy…’
Emma’s face broke into a simper. ‘Oh yes, he is so good… I’ve known him for years, you know, long before he married. His wife died last year. She was a quiet little thing—no looks at all. You remind me of her.’
To which remark Mary Jane could think of no answer at all. She escaped through the door and spent the rest of the evening with the old gentleman, who seemed delighted to see her again and to her great relief made no remarks at all about her face or her lack of looks.
It turned a great deal colder the next day, but Mary Jane went riding just the same, bundled in several sweaters against the wind, and returning to the house with glowing cheeks and a sparkle in her eyes. Of Fabian there was no sign, but that didn’t surprise her—why should he come anyway? He had only visited the house because he needed some papers signed—it certainly wasn’t for her company. Let him use his leisure escorting the beauties of Groningen to romantic dinners, she thought, her lip curling, and then her mood changed and she fell to thinking how very satisfactory it would be if she could be escorted to this hotel Emma had been so enthusiastic about, wearing the organza dress. She sighed and prodded her mount to quicken his pace. Chance was a fine thing, she told him, as they turned for home.
She had her chance the very next day, as it turned out, for when Doctor Trouw called he brought his son with him. A pleasant young man in his twenties, he had recently qualified and was about to join his father’s practice. Over coffee he remarked, ‘You are stranger here, I don’t suppose you go out very much. I should like to take you out to dinner one evening.’
Mary Jane accepted with alacrity, and when, to her delight, he suggested that he should take her to Hotel Borg de Breedenborg on the following evening, she agreed with flattering speed.
She spent the intervening time imagining herself sweeping into the restaurant while Fabian, already there with some girl, would be bowled over by the sight of her in the organza, prettied up for the evening. The urge to shake him out of his cool, casual attitude towards herself was growing very strong, it caused her to take twice as long as usual in her preparations for the evening, which were so effective that when she went along to see her patient before they left, he was constrained to remark upon her changed appearance, as indeed was Cousin Emma, who rather tactlessly remarked that she hardly recognised Mary Jane in her finery.
Willem was rather nice and she was determined to have a pleasant evening. As they drove to the hotel she set herself to draw him out with a few well-chosen questions about his work. It wasn’t until they reached the hotel that she was struck by the thought that her chance of seeing Fabian was small indeed. Even if he had a host of girl-friends, he surely didn’t dine there every evening. He had his work—presumably that kept him busy, and surely he must spend some of his evenings at home, catching up on his reading, writing, even operating when it was necessary. She left her coat, patted the hair which had taken so long to put up and determinedly dismissed him from her head as she rejoined Willem.
The restaurant was full and she realized with something of a shock that it was already Saturday again—a whole week since she had seen Fabian. She sat down opposite her companion, gave him a brilliant smile and glanced around her. Fabian was sitting quite near their table, and the girl he was with was just as lovely as she had imagined she would be. Mary Jane turned the brilliance of her smile into a polite, tight-lipped one as she caught his eye and turned her attention to Willem, who, once they had ordered, launched into an earnest description of his days, hour by hour, almost minute by minute. She strove to keep an interested expression on her face, and when it was possible, laughed gaily, so that Fabian, whom she hadn’t looked at again, would see how much she was enjoying herself. It was a pity that Fabian and his companion should go while they themselves were only half way through dinner. He paused as they passed the table, his hand on the girl’s arm. He said austerely, ‘I’m glad to see that you are enjoying yourself, Mary Jane,’ nodded briefly to Willem and went on his way. Mary Jane watched him smile down at the girl as they went through the door and then wondered briefly where they were going, and then concentrated on Willem, who had started to tell her at great length about a girl he had met at his hospital. She obviously occupied his thoughts to a large extent; by the time he had finished, Mary Jane even knew the size of her shoes.
They went back to the house at a reasonable hour because, as Willem reminded her, his father, who was dining with Cousin Emma and keeping an eye on her father at the same time, needed a good night’s sleep. He took his farewell of her half an hour later with the hope that they might spend another evening together before she returned to England, and Mary Jane, thanking him nicely, wondered how she could possibly have been interested in him, even for such a short time; he was so very worthy, and looking back on their evening she could remember no conversation at all on her part, merely a succession of ‘really’s’ and ‘fancy that’s’ and ‘you don’t say so’s’. When he and his father had gone she gave Cousin Emma a potted version of her evening because she could see that the lady had no intention of allowing her to go to bed until she had done so, and then she went to Jonkheer van der Blocq’s room to see if he had settled for the night. Somehow or other, he had contrived not to take his sleeping tablet, which necessitated her arguing gently with him for the best part of ten minutes, but when he had finally consented to do as she asked and she had turned his pillows and settled him nicely, he enquired after her evening, observing in no uncertain manner that he found Willem a dull fellow, which naturally had the effect of her replying that he had been a very interesting companion, that the dinner had been delicious, and that he had asked her out again.
‘What did you talk about?’ growled the old man.
‘Oh, his work, naturally. And a girl he met while he was in hospital—he’s very taken with her. He—talked a lot about her.’
Jonkheer van der Blocq laughed until he had no breath. Mary Jane gave him a drink, told him severely that there was nothing to laugh about, wished him good night and presently went to bed herself. She hadn’t mentioned to anyone that Fabian had been at the hotel too, and she didn’t think she would.
He came the next morning while they were in church, and this time it was the Rolls parked outside the door when they returned. As they went in he came downstairs, wished them a pleasant good morning, agreed that a cup of coffee would be welcome and when Emma had disappeared kitchenwards to find someone to make it, turned to Mary Jane and invited her to enter the sitting room.
‘I’ll take my things upstairs first,’ she told him coldly, and was frustrated by his instant offer to take her coat, which he tossed on to a chair.
‘It can stay there for a moment,’ he told her rather impatiently. ‘I see you are wearing the new hat. It’s pretty—so you found it.’
She gave him a frosty look and said witheringly, ‘It wasn’t difficult, it was on my head.’
The dark wings of his brows soared. ‘Oh dear—I can see that I must apologise, my dear girl, and I do. I could make a flowery speech, but you would make mincemeat of it, so I’ll just say that I’m sorry.’
She walked away from him into the sitting room, where she sat down, telling herself indignantly that she didn’t care if he followed her or not. He took the chair opposite hers and stretched his long legs and studied her carefully.
‘You wouldn’t believe me if I say how charming you looked yesterday evening?’ he asked mildly.
‘No.’ She added nastily, ‘You haven’t a clue as to what I was wearing.’
His smile mocked her. ‘Sea green, or would you call it sea blue, something thin and silky. It had long sleeves with frills over your wrists and a frill under your chin and a row of buttons down the back of the bodice.’
She was astounded, but she managed to say with a tinge of sarcasm:
‘A photographic eye, I see,’ and then because her female curiosity had got the better of her good sense. ‘The girl you were with was lovely.’
He picked a tiny thread from a well-tailored sleeve. ‘Delightfully so. She wears a different wig every day of the week and the longest false eyelashes I have ever seen.’
Mary Jane turned a chuckle into a cough. ‘And why not? It’s the fashion. Besides, she would look gorgeous in anything she chose to put on.’
He agreed placidly. ‘And you found William Trouw entertaining?’ he asked suavely.
‘We had a very pleasant evening,’ she told him guardedly.
‘A worthy young man,’ went on her companion ruminatively. ‘He would make a good husband—do you fancy him?’
She choked. ‘Well, of all the things to say! I’ve been out with him once, and here you are, talking as though…’
He went on just as though she had never interrupted him. ‘He has a good practice with his father, so he wouldn’t be after your money, and I imagine he has all the attributes of a good husband—good-natured, no interest in drinking or betting, or girls, for that matter—a calm disposition, he…’
She ground her teeth. ‘Be quiet! You may be my guardian, but you shan’t talk like that. I’ll marry whom I please and when I want to, and until then you can mind your own business!’
‘From which outburst I conclude that Willem hasn’t won your heart?’
She wanted to laugh, but she choked it back. ‘No, he hasn’t. As a matter of fact he spent quite a long time telling me about a girl he knew in hospital. I think he intends to marry her.’
‘Ah, I wondered what it was that you found so interesting, though surely it was unkind of you to laugh so much during the recital?’
‘I didn’t…’ she began, and stopped, because of course she had, so that Fabian should think she was having a lovely time. ‘I enjoyed myself very much,’ she muttered peevishly, and was glad to see Cousin Emma and Jaap with the coffee tray, coming into the room.
Fabian stayed for lunch, and his uncle insisted upon coming down to join them, contributing to the conversation with such gusto that Mary Jane feared for his blood pressure. But at least he was so tired after his meal that she had no difficulty in persuading him to take his customary nap, and when she had tucked him up and come downstairs again it was to find that Emma had allowed herself to be driven over to Doctor Trouw’s house for tea. Which left her and Fabian. He was waiting for her in the hall and he sounded impatient.
‘Shall we have a walk before tea?’
Mary Jane paused at the bottom of the staircase. ‘Thank you, no. I have letters to write.’
‘Which you can write at any time.’ He came towards her. ‘It’s not often I’m here.’
‘Oh—should I mind?’
‘Don’t be an impudent girl, and don’t imagine it is because I want your company,’ he added quite violently. ‘I had a letter from Mr North asking me to explain certain aspects of your inheritance to you, so I might just as well do it and take some exercise at the same time.’
‘Charming!’ observed Mary Jane, her eyes snapping with temper, ‘and so good of you to fit me in with one of your more healthy activities.’
‘And what,’ he asked awfully, ‘exactly do you mean by that remark?’
‘Just exactly what I say. I’ll come for half an hour—in that time you should be able to tell me whatever I’m supposed to know.’
She crossed the hall and picked up her coat, caught up her gloves and went to the pillow cupboard, rummaged around in its depths until she found a scarf which she tied carelessly over her hair. ‘Ready,’ she said with a distinct snap.
They walked away from the village, into the teeth of a mean wind, while Fabian talked about stocks and shares and gilt-edged securities and capital gains tax to all of which she lent only half an ear. As far as she could see she would have a perfectly adequate income whatever he and Mr North decided to do with her money. As long as she had sufficient to run the house and pay for Mrs Body and Lily and have some over to run the car and buy clothes… She stopped suddenly and told him so.
‘You are not only a tiresome girl, you are also a very ungrateful one,’ Fabian informed her bitterly.
‘I’m sorry—about being ungrateful, I mean, but I can’t remember being tiresome—was it on any particular occasion?’
He sounded quite weary. ‘You are tiresome all the time,’ he told her, which surprised her so much that she walked in silence until he observed that since she wished to return to Midwoude within half an hour, they had better go back. They didn’t speak at all, and in the hall they parted. When Mary Jane came downstairs ten minutes later, it was to find that he had gone. She told herself with a little surge of rage that it was a good thing too, for when they were together they did nothing but disagree. She wandered across to the sitting room, telling herself again, this time out loud, that she was delighted, and added the hope that she wouldn’t see him for simply ages.
But it wasn’t simply ages, it was the following Wednesday, or rather three o’clock on Thursday morning. Jonkheer van der Blocq had had, for him, a very good day. They had played their usual game of cards, and she had helped him to bed, just a little worried because his colour was bad. But Doctor Trouw had called that afternoon, and although the old gentleman was failing rapidly now, he had seen no cause for immediate alarm. Mary Jane went to bed early, first taking another look at her patient. He was asleep, and there was nothing to justify her unease.
The peal of the bell wakened her. She bundled on her dressing gown, and not waiting to put her feet in slippers, ran across the dim landing. The old man was lying very much as she had left him, but now his colour was livid, although he said with his usual irascibility, ‘I feel most peculiar—I want Fabian here at once.’
She murmured soothingly while she took a frighteningly weak pulse and studied his tired old face before she went to the telephone. It was quite wrong to ring up in front of the patient, but she didn’t dare leave him. She rang Doctor Trouw first, with a suitably guarded request for him to come, and then dialled Fabian’s number. His voice, calm and clear over the line, gave her the instant feeling that she didn’t need to worry about anything because he was there—she forgot that they weren’t on speaking terms, that he was arrogant and treated her like a tiresome child. She said simply, ‘Oh, Fabian—will you come at once? Your uncle’—she paused, aware that the bed’s occupant was listening—’would like to speak to you,’ she finished.
‘He’s listening?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll be with you in fifteen minutes. Get Trouw.’
‘I have.’
‘Good girl! Get Jaap up and tell him to open the gates and the door. Get Emma up too—no, wait—tell Jaap to do that. You stay with my uncle.’
She said, ‘Yes, Fabian,’ and put down the receiver. ‘Fabian’s on his way,’ she told Jonkheer van der Blocq in a calm, reassuring voice. ‘I’m to wake Jaap so that he can open the gates. Stay just as you are—I’ll only be few moments.’
Doctor Trouw came a few minutes later, and in response to the old gentleman’s demand to be given something to keep him going, gave him an injection, told him to save his breath in the understanding voice of an old friend and went to Emma’s room, where she could be heard crying very loudly.
Mary Jane pulled up a chair to the bedside, tucked her cold feet under her and took Jonkheer van der Blocq’s hand in hers. ‘Fabian won’t be long,’ she told him again, because she sensed that was what he wanted above anything else. She certainly was justified, because a moment later she heard the soft, powerful murmur of the Rolls’ engine and the faint crunch of its tyres as Fabian stopped outside the front door.
He entered the room without haste, wearing a thick sweater and slacks and looking very wide awake. He said: ‘Hullo, Uncle Georgius,’ and nodded to Mary Jane, his dark, bright gaze taking in the dressing-gown, the plaited hair and her bare feet. He said kindly, ‘What a girl you are for forgetting your slippers! Go and put them on, it’s cold, and tell Trouw I’m here, will you. I don’t suppose he heard me come, with the row Emma’s making.’
His uncle made a weak, explosive sound. ‘Silly woman,’ he said, in a voice suddenly small, ‘always crying—you’ll keep an eye on her, Fabian?’
‘Of course.’ He lapsed into Dutch as Mary Jane reached the door.
Emma was in no state to be left alone; Mary Jane stayed with her as Doctor Trouw hurried across the landing, and was still with her when he came back to tell them that his patient was dead. It wasn’t until poor Emma had had something to send her to sleep, and Mary Jane had tucked her up in bed, that she felt free to leave her.
The old house was very quiet; there was a murmur of voices coming from the kitchen, and still more voices behind the closed door of the small sitting room. She stood in the hall, wondering if she should go back to bed, a little uncertain as to what Doctor Trouw might expect of her. It was chilly in the hall and the tick-tock of the over-elaborate French grandfather dripped into the stillness with an oily sloth which she found intensely irritating. A cup of tea would have been nice, she thought despondently, and turned to go back upstairs just as the sitting room door opened and Fabian said: ‘Ah, there you are. Come in— Jaap’s bringing tea.’ He glanced at her pale face. ‘You look as though you need it. Cousin Emma’s asleep?’
She nodded, then sat down in a chair by the still burning fire and drank her tea, listening to the two men talking and saying very little herself. When she had finished she got to her feet. ‘Is there anything you would like me to do?’ she asked.
Doctor Trouw shook his head. ‘The district nurse will be here very shortly. Go to bed, Mary Jane, and get some sleep. I am most grateful to you for all you have done and I will ask you to do something else. Would you look after Emma for a few days? She has very sensitive nature and I am afraid this will be too much for her—I will leave something for her, if you will give it when she wakes, and be round about lunch time to see how she is.’
She nodded, thinking that Cousin Emma would be even more difficult than her father, and went to the door which Fabian had opened for her. He followed her into the hall, shutting the door behind him, and she turned round tiredly to see what he wanted.
His voice was quiet. ‘I know what you are thinking. We have imposed upon you and we have no right but I too would be grateful if you would stay just for little while and help Emma—she likes you and she needs you.’
She said shortly, ‘Oh, that’s all right. Of course I’ll stay.
He came nearer. ‘You have had a lot to bear in the last few weeks, Mary Jane. Once I called you a tiresome girl. I apologise.’ He bent and kissed her cheek with a gentleness which disturbed her more than any of the harsh words he had uttered in the past. She went upstairs, not answering his good night.
The next few days were a peculiar medley of intense activity, doing all the things Cousin Emma insisted should be done; receiving visitors, whose hushed voices and platitudes caused her to sit in floods of tears for hours after they had gone; going to Groningen to buy the black garments she considered essential and relating, seemingly endlessly, her father’s perfections to Mary Jane, while crying herself sick again.
Mary Jane found it all a little difficult to stomach—father and daughter had hardly had a happy relationship while he was alive, now that he was dead he had somehow become a kind of saint. But she liked Emma, although she found her histrionics a little trying, and she did what she could to keep her as calm as possible, addressed countless envelopes and kept out of Fabian’s way as much as possible.
He came frequently, but her quick ears, tuned to the gentle hum of the Rolls-Royce or the exuberant roar of the Jaguar, gave her warning enough to slip away while he was in the house. But one evening she had made the mistake of supposing that he had left the house; it was almost dinner time and there was no sound of voices from either of the sitting rooms. He must have gone, she decided, while she had been up in the attic, packing away Jonkheer van der Blocq’s clothes until such time as his daughter found herself capable of deciding what to do with them. The small sitting room was dimly lit by the firelight and one lamp, and Freule van der Blocq was lying asleep on the sofa. Fabian was on one of the easy chairs, his legs thrust out before him, contemplating the ceiling, but he got up as Mary Jane started to leave the room as silently and quickly as she had entered it. Outside in the hall he demanded: ‘Where have you been?’
‘Upstairs in the attics, sorting your uncle’s clothes.’
‘Have you, by God? Surely there’s someone else to such work? And that was not what I meant. Where have you been? Whenever I come, I am conscious of your disappearing footsteps. Do you dislike me so much?’
She eyed him thoughtfully. ‘I never think about it,’ she said at length, not quite truthfully.
His expressive eyebrows rose. ‘No? You thought I had gone?’
‘Yes.’
He grinned. ‘I’m staying to dinner, and now you’re here there’s no point in retreating, is there? We’ll have a glass of sherry.’
She accompanied him to the big sitting room and sat down composedly while he poured their drinks. When he had settled himself near her he asked, ‘When do you want to go home?’
‘I should like to go as soon as the funeral is over. I understand that Emma is going away the day after—I could leave at the same time.’ She sipped her sherry. ‘If you would be kind enough to let me have some more money, I can see about getting my ticket.’
‘No need. I shall take you with the car.’
She kept her voice reasonable. ‘I don’t want to go in your car. I’m quite capable of looking after myself, you know. Besides, you have your work.’ She looked at him, saw his smouldering gaze bent upon her and added hastily, ‘I’m very grateful, but I can’t let you waste any more time on me.’
‘Have I ever complained that I was wasting my time on you?’
‘No—but one senses these things.’
He gave a crack of laughter. ‘One might be mistaken. Would you feel better about it if I told you that I have to go over to England anyway within the next few days—I’m only offering you a lift.’
She said doubtfully, ‘Really? Well, that’s different, I’ll be glad to go with you.’
She missed the gleam in his eyes. ‘Tuesday, then. Cousin Emma will be fetched by her friends after breakfast. I’ll come for you about four o’clock. I’ve a ward round to do in the morning and a couple of patients to see after that. We’ll go from Rotterdam, I think straight to Hull.’ He thought for a minute. ‘If we leave here after tea we shall have plenty of time to catch the ferry at Europort. If I’m not here by half past four, have tea and be ready to leave, will you?’
‘Certainly.’
‘You’ll want to telephone Mrs Body.’ He strolled across the room and picked up the receiver from the telephone on the delicate serpentine table between the windows. ‘What is the number?’
It was nice to hear Mrs Body’s motherly voice again. Mary Jane listened to her comfortable comments and felt a wave of homesickness sweep over her. It would be lovely to be home again. She told Mrs Body her news and heard that lady’s voice asking if the dear doctor would be staying. Mary Jane hadn’t thought about that. She repeated the enquiry and he turned to look at her. ‘I began to think you weren’t going to ask me,’ he remarked mildly. ‘A day or so, if I may.’
Mrs Body sighed in a satisfied manner when Mary Jane told her. ‘That will be nice,’ she said as she rang off, leaving Mary Jane wondering how much truth there was in that remark. Probably they would quarrel again before his visit was over, and there was nothing nice about that.
But at least they didn’t quarrel that evening, tacit consent, they allied to keep Cousin Emma interested and amused, and succeeded so well that she didn’t cry once and went to bed quite cheerful. Mary Jane, quite tired herself, went to bed early too and closed her eyes on the thought that when Fabian wished, he could be a most agreeable companion.
She saw little of him until Tuesday, when Cousin Emma, vowing eternal thanks, was packed off to stay with her friends and Mary Jane found herself alone in the house except for Jaap and the cook. The morning passed slowly enough because she had nothing much to do but go for a walk, but after her solitary lunch she settled down with a book until four o’clock, when she did her face and hair once more, got Jaap to bring down her case and went to the window to watch for the car. It didn’t come; it hadn’t come by half past four either. She had her tea, punctuated by frequent visits to the window, and when she had finished, put on her outdoor things, made sure that she had every thing with her, and sat down to wait. It was a quarter to six when the car’s headlights lighted up the drive. She went into the hall to meet him, saying without any hint of the impatience she felt: ‘You’d like a cup of tea, wouldn’t you? I asked Jaap to be ready with one.’
‘Good girl. I missed lunch—an emergency—I was called back to theatre.’
She was already on her way to the kitchen. ‘I’ll get some sandwiches.’ She paused. ‘I hope it was a success.’
‘I think so—we shan’t be certain for a couple of days.’
She nodded understandingly as she went, to return very soon with a tray of tea and buttered toast, sandwiches and cake. She poured the tea, gave him his toast and sat down again. Presently he said:
‘You’re very restful—not one reproach for being late, or missing the boat or where have I been.’
‘Well, it wouldn’t help much if I did, would it?’ she wanted to know in a matter-of-fact voice. ‘Besides, there’s time enough, isn’t there? The Rolls goes like a bomb, doesn’t she, and the ferry doesn’t leave until about midnight.’
‘Sensible Miss Pettigrew! But I had planned a leisurely dinner on the way. Now it will have to be a hurried one.’
She smiled at him without malice. ‘That won’t matter much, will it? Now if I’d been the girl you were with the other night, that would be quite a different kettle of fish…’
He put down his cup slowly. ‘You’re a great one for the unvarnished truth, aren’t you?’
She got up and went over to the big gilt-framed mirror at the opposite end of the room and twitched the beret to a more becoming angle.
‘Seeing that we have to deal with each other until I’m thirty,’ she said in a tranquil voice, ‘we might as well be truthful with each other, even if nothing else.’
‘Nothing else what?’ He spoke sharply.
She went to pour him a second cup. ‘Nothing,’ she told him.
They set out shortly afterwards. It was a cold dark evening and the road was almost free of traffic and Fabian sent the car tearing along on the first stage of their journey. He showed no signs of tiredness but sat relaxed behind the wheel—it was a pity it wasn’t light, he told her, for they were going to Rotterdam down the other side of the Ijsselmeer, and she would have been able to see a little more of Holland. Mary Jane agreed with him and they sat in silence as they ripped through the flat landscape. Only when they reached Alkmaar and slowed to go through its narrow streets did he say, ‘I’m poor company. I’m sorry.’
‘The case this afternoon?’ she ventured, to be rewarded by his surprised, ‘How did you guess? Would it bore you if I told you about it?’
She wasn’t bored; she listened with interest and intelligence and asked the right questions in the right places. They were approaching Rotterdam when he said finally, ‘Thank you for listening so well—I can’t think of any other girl to whom I would have talked like that.’
She felt a little pang of pure pleasure and tried to think of something to say, but couldn’t.
They had their dinner in haste at the Old Dutch restaurant, and Mary Jane, seeing how tired Fabian looked, did her utmost to keep the conversation of a nature which could provoke no difference of opinion between them, and succeeded so well that they boarded the ferry on the friendliest of terms.
The journey was uneventful but rough, but they were both too tired to bother about the weather. They met at breakfast and she was delighted to find that his humour was still a good one. Perhaps now that they wouldn’t be seeing much of each other, he was prepared to unbend a little. She accompanied him down to the car deck, hoping that this pleasant state of affairs would last.
It didn’t, at least only until they reached the Lakes to receive a rapturous welcome from Mrs Body and sit down to one of her excellent teas. They barely begun the meal when Mary Jane stated, ‘I intend to buy a horse tomorrow.’
‘No, you won’t.’ Fabian spoke unhurriedly and with old finality.
She opened her eyes wide. ‘Haven’t I enough money?’ she demanded.
‘Don’t make ridiculous statements like that—you have plenty of money. If you want a mount, I’ll come with you, and you will allow me to choose the animal.’ ‘No, I won’t! I can ride, you know I can.’
‘Nevertheless, you will do as I ask, but before you start spending your money there are one or two details to attend to, I must ask you to come with me to the bank at Keswick, and Mr North will be coming here tomorrow morning. He will bring the last of the papers for you to sign, and as from then your income will be paid into your account each quarter. Should you need more money, you will have to advise me and I will advance it from the estate, should I consider it necessary.’
She boiled with rage. ‘Consider it? It’s ridiculous—it’s like being a child, having to ask you for everything I want!’
He remained unmoved by her outburst. ‘How inaccurate you are! You have more than sufficient to live on in comfort, and as long as you keep within your income, you will have no need to apply to me.’
She snorted, ‘I should hope not—I’d rather be a pauper!’
‘Even more inaccurate.’
There seemed no more to be said; she wasn’t disposed to say that she was sorry and she could see that such an intention on his part hadn’t even crossed his mind. He excused himself presently and she saw him cleaning the Rolls at the back of the house. From a distance he looked nice. He was a handsome man, she had to admit, and amusing when he wished to be, and kind; only, she told herself darkly, when one got to know him better did one discover what an ill-tempered, arrogant, unsympathetic… She ran out of adjectives.
He stayed two more days, coldly polite, unfailingly courteous and as withdrawn as though they were complete strangers forced to share a small slice of life together. She told herself that she was glad to see him go as the Rolls went through the gate and disappeared down the road to Keswick. He hadn’t turned round to wave, either, and he must have known that she was standing in the porch. His goodbye had been casual in the extreme and he had made no mention of their future meeting. Mary Jane stormed back into the house, very put out and banged the door behind her, telling Major in a loud angry voice that life would be heaven without him.