Dearest Mary Jane

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...’