Marrying Mary. Бетти Нилс

She added snappily, ‘Not that I’m indispensable...’

      ‘No, no,’ soothed Professor van Rakesma. ‘Of course not, but I see that you have problems. Would it help if you were to go home for a few hours each day? Perhaps while your aunt rests in the afternoons?’

      ‘Have you any idea what the traffic is like between here and Hampstead—the other end of Hampstead?’

      He tucked this useful piece of information away at the back of his mind and said that he had a very good idea. ‘If a nurse were to relieve you for a few hours each day would that help?’ And at her look of surprise he added, ‘I’m sure the National Health Service would be prepared to pay for her; she would cost a lot less than having your aunt in hospital, besides giving us another empty bed. Always in short supply.’

      ‘Would they? Who should I ask?’

      ‘Leave that to me. Now, I think we might join Dr Symes and his patient.’

      Great Aunt Thirza was sitting, propped up by pillows, in a vast mahogany bed; she looked pale and tired and Mary forgot how tiresome the whole thing was and bent to kiss her cheek. ‘I’m sorry, Aunt Thirza, but a few days’ rest and you’ll be as right as rain.’

      ‘So that foreign man tells me. Dr Symes is of no use at all—nice enough, but of course all doctors are fools, and don’t contradict me, miss!’ She caught Mary’s hand. ‘You’ll stay, Mary?’

      ‘Until you are better, yes, Aunt Thirza.’

      Mrs Winton closed her eyes. ‘Then go away and leave me in peace.’

      Mary looked at the two men. Dr Symes nodded to her to go with him, leaving the professor at the bedside. Outside the door he said, ‘She’ll listen to him. Are you sure you can manage? I’ll be in every day and I dare say Professor van Rakesma will visit again. It was a piece of luck that I happened to be on the other phone to him when the housekeeper rang up—said he’d seen her at St Justin’s and asked if he might come and see her. Very civil of him.’

      She agreed, and added sedately, ‘I’m sure it will be a great relief to Aunt Thirza to know that she is being looked after so well. You’ll be here in the morning?’

      ‘After surgery, but phone me if you are worried.’

      They were joined by the professor then, who, beyond wishing her good morning, had nothing further to say before the two men went out to their cars and drove away. She shut the door and went to find Mrs Cox.

      ‘You’re staying, Miss Mary? I told the doctor and I’m telling you that I’m the housekeeper, not the nurse. I’ve enough to do without fetching and carrying all day and half the night.’

      ‘Yes, of course I’ll stay, Mrs Cox. Professor van Rakesma thinks that Mrs Winton will be fully recovered in a short time. I’m sure that it must have been a nasty shock to you when she became ill again. I’ll look after my aunt so please don’t worry; I’m sure that you have enough to do.’

      Mrs Cox bridled. ‘Well, as to that, I’m sure I’m willing to give a hand when necessary—though I won’t be left alone with Mrs Winton.’

      ‘No, no. No one would ask you to do that. I’m sure we’ll manage very well between us. I’ll go and see my aunt now. I dare say she’s tired after being examined.’

      Great Aunt Thirza was asleep. Mary stealthily opened a window, and sat down on a little spoon-back chair and went over her conversation with the professor. He had said that she was to leave things to him, that he would arrange for someone to come each day so that she could go home, but he was a busy man and, however well meant, she doubted if anything would come of that.

      It had been a delightful surprise seeing him again, she reflected, not that he had been over-friendly. Well, she conceded, he’s been kind and helpful, but she rather thought that he would be that to anyone with a problem. She had to admit that he had shown no special interest in her, but then why should he? Probably he was happily married...

      ‘Why are you sitting there?’ demanded Great Aunt Thirza. ‘There’s surely something you can be doing? I don’t approve of idle hands.’

      ‘I was waiting for you to wake up,’ said Mary. ‘Dr Symes wants you to have a warm drink—tea or milk or cocoa?’

      Great Aunt Thirza was feeling cantankerous. ‘I don’t want a drink...’

      Mary got to her feet. ‘I’ll bring you a tray of tea-Earl Grey—and do you fancy a little fish for your lunch?’

      ‘Fish! Fish? I’m very ill, girl, probably dying...’

      ‘Professor van Rakesma said that you will be up and about in a few days. You’ve had a nasty fright, Aunt Thirza, but there’s no question of your dying. A nice little piece of sole, with a morsel of creamed potato and perhaps a purée of new peas?’

      ‘You may bring it to me,’ said the old lady ungraciously, ‘but I shall most likely be unable to eat it.’

      It seemed a very long day to Mary; her aunt kept her busy, for she was a bad patient, prone to do exactly the opposite to what she was asked to do, so that Mary got into bed quite worn out with hanging on to her patience. She had phoned her mother that evening, and was relieved that everything was going smoothly at home—although Mrs Pagett’s efforts at cooking supper seemed to have been rather chaotic.

      ‘You won’t have to stay there long?’ her mother had asked.

      ‘No, I don’t think so.’ She recounted what the doctor had said but didn’t mention the professor’s offer to find a relief for her each day. It had been a kind thought, she reflected sleepily, but he would have forgotten by now.

      He hadn’t though. Mary was carrying her aunt’s lunch tray downstairs the next day when Mrs Cox admitted an elderly woman in a nurse’s uniform.

      Mary, poised on the bottom tread of the stairs, stared at her. ‘He actually meant it,’ she exclaimed.

      The woman smiled. ‘Indeed he did. Professor van Rakesma seldom says much, but when he does he means it. He has arranged for me to come each day while you are here—two o’clock until half-past five.’

      Mary put down her tray and shook hands. ‘That’s very kind and thoughtful of him—and kind of you too. It’s not interfering with your work? I didn’t realise that the Health Service were so helpful.’

      ‘Well, you must have time to yourself. I’m Maisie Stone.’ She glanced at Mrs Cox, who was standing by the door looking rather sour.

      ‘This is Mrs Cox, my aunt’s housekeeper,’ said Mary hastily. ‘She runs the house beautifully and is such a help.’

      Mrs Cox looked smug. ‘I’m sure I do my best but, as I told Miss Mary here, I won’t do no nursing or lifting or suchlike.’

      ‘Well, I wouldn’t expect you to do that,’ said Mrs Stone comfortably. ‘I’m sure we shall get on very well together.’ She turned to Mary. ‘If I might take a look at the patient?’

      Ten minutes later Mary was in the car, driving home. It was an awkward journey, but she had discovered several short cuts and the traffic wasn’t too heavy 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