Dearest Mary Jane

The taxi would take something over half an hour to get to the hospital. Mary Jane supposed that they would need to get there with half an hour to spare.

‘I believe that there is a very good place in the hospital where you can get coffee—dear Mabel will need refreshment.’

Mary Jane thought that after a ride in the taxi with the overwrought Miss Mabel Potter she might be in need of refreshment herself. She said in her calm way, ‘I’ll be over in half an hour or so, Miss Potter. There’s still plenty of time.’

A tearfully grateful Miss Potter went on her way. Mary Jane closed the tea-room, changed into a blouse and skirt and a cardigan, drank a cup of coffee and ate a scone, made sure that Brimble was cosily asleep. on the end of her bed and walked across the village square and along the narrow country lane which led to the Misses Potter’s cottage. It was called a cottage but, in fact, it was a rather nice house built of Cotswold stone and much too large for them. They had been born there and intended to live out their lives there, even though they were forced to do so as economically as possible. Mary Jane went up the garden path, rang the bell and was admitted by Miss Emily and led to the drawing-room where Miss Mabel sat surrounded by furniture which had been there before she was born and which neither she nor her sister would dream of changing.

Mary Jane sat down on a nice little Victorian button-back chair and embarked on a cheerful conversation. It was rather like talking to someone condemned to the guillotine; Miss Mabel bore the appearance of someone whose last moment had come. It was a relief when the taxi arrived and the cheerful conversation was scrapped for urgent persuasions to get in.

They were half an hour too early for their appointment, which was a mistake, for the orthopaedic clinic, although it had started punctually, was already running late. It was going on for three o’clock by the time the severe-looking sister called Miss Potter’s name and by then she was in such a nervous state that Mary Jane had a job getting her on to her feet and into the consulting-room.

The consultant sitting behind the desk got up and shook Miss Potter’s nerveless hand—the man who had demanded tea for his tiresome companion. Mary Jane, never one to think before she spoke, said chattily, ‘Oh, hello—it’s you—fancy seeing you here.’

She received a look from icy blue eyes in which there was no hint of recollection, although his ‘Good afternoon’ was uttered with detached civility and she blushed, something she did far too easily however much she tried not to. The stern-faced sister took no notice. She said briskly, ‘You had better stay with Miss Potter, she seems nervous.’

Mary Jane sat herself down in a corner of the room where Miss Potter could see her and watched the man wheedle that lady’s complaints and symptoms out of her. He did it very kindly and without any sign of impatience, even when Miss Potter sidetracked to explain about the marmalade which hadn’t jelled because she had felt poorly and hadn’t given it her full attention. A nasty, arrogant man, Mary Jane decided, but he had his good points. She had thought about him once or twice of course, and with a touch of wistfulness, for handsome giants who drove Rolls-Royce motor cars weren’t exactly thick on the ground in her part of the world, but she hadn’t expected to see him again. She wondered about his beautiful companion and was roused from her thoughts by Sister leading Miss Mabel away to a curtained-off corner to be examined.

The man took no notice of Mary Jane but wrote steadily and very fast until Sister came to tell him that his patient was ready.

He disappeared behind the curtain and Mary Jane, bored with sitting still and sure that he would be at least ten minutes, got up and went over to the desk and peered down at the notes he had been writing. She wasn’t surprised that she could hardly make head or tail of it, for he had been writing fast, but presently she began to make sense of it. There were some rough diagrams too, with arrows pointing in all directions and what looked like Latin. It was a pity that no one had seen to it that he wrote a legible hand when he was a schoolboy.

His voice, gently enquiring as to whether she was interested in orthopaedics, sent her whirling round to bump into his waistcoat.

‘Yes—no, that is...’ She had gone scarlet again. ‘Your writing is quite unreadable,’ she finished.

‘Yes? But as long as I can read it...you’re a nosy young woman.’

‘The patients’ charter,’ said Mary Jane, never at a loss for a word. He gave rather a nasty laugh.

‘And a busybody as well,’ be observed.

He sat down at his desk again and started to write once more and she went back to her chair and watched him. About thirty-five, she supposed, with brown hair already grizzled at the sides, and the kind of commanding nose he could look down. A firm mouth and a strong chin. She supposed that he could be quite nice when he smiled. He was dressed with understated elegance, the kind which cost a great deal of money, and she wondered what his name was. Not that it mattered, she reminded herself, as Miss Mabel came from behind the curtain, fully dressed even to her hat and gloves.

He got up as she came towards him and Mary Jane liked him for that, and for the manner in which he broke the news to his patient that an operation on her hip would relieve her of pain and disability.

He turned to Mary Jane. ‘You are a relation of Miss Potter?’ His tone was politely impersonal.

‘Me? No. Just someone in the village. Miss Potter’s sister couldn’t come because of Didums...’ His raised eyebrows forced her to explain. ‘Their dog—she’s not very well, the vet said...’ She stopped. It was obvious that he didn’t want to know what the vet had said.

‘Perhaps you could ask Miss Potter’s sister to ring the hospital and she will be told what arrangements will be made to admit her sister.’

He addressed himself to Miss Mabel once more, got to his feet to bid her goodbye, nodded at Mary Jane and Sister ushered them out into the waiting-room again.

‘What is his name?’ asked Mary Jane.

Sister had her hand on the next case sheets. She gave Mary Jane a frosty look. ‘If you mean the consultant you have just seen, his name is Sir Thomas Latimer. Miss Potter is extremely lucky that he will take her as a patient.’ She added impressively, ‘He is famous in his field.’

‘Oh, good.’ Mary Jane gave Sister a sunny smile and guided Miss Mabel out of the hospital and into the forecourt where the taxi was parked.

The return journey was entirely taken up with Miss Mabel’s rather muddled version of her examination, the driver’s rather lurid account of his wife’s varicose veins and their treatment and Mary Jane doing her best to guide the conversation into neutral topics.

It took some time to explain everything once they had reached the cottage. Mary Jane’s sensible account interlarded with Miss Mabel’s flights of fancy, but presently she was able to wish them goodbye and go home. Brimble was waiting for her, wanting his tea and company. She fed him, made a pot of tea for herself and, since it was almost five o’clock by now, she made no attempt to open the tea-room. She locked up and went upstairs and sat down by the gas fire with Brimble on her lap, thinking of Sir Thomas Latimer.

Nothing happened for several days; the fine weather held and Mary Jane reaped a better harvest than usual from motorists making the best of the last of summer. She had seen nothing of the Misses Potter but she hadn’t expected to; they came once a week, as regular as clockwork, on a Thursday to draw their pensions and indulge themselves with tea and scones, so she looked up in surprise when they came into the tea-room at eleven o’clock in the morning, two days early.

‘We have had a letter,’ observed Miss Emily, ‘which we should like you to read, Mary Jane, since it concerns you. And since we are here, I think that we might indulge ourselves with a cup of your excellent coffee.’

Mary Jane poured the coffee and took the letter she was offered. It was very clearly worded: Miss Mabel was to present herself at the hospital in four days’ time so that the operation found necessary by Sir Thomas Latimer might be carried out. Mary Jane skimmed over the bit about bringing a nightgown and toiletries and slowed at the next paragraph. It was considered advisable, in view of Miss Mabel’s nervous disposition, that the young lady who had accompanied her on her previous visit should do so again so that Miss Potter might be reassured by her company.

‘Well, I never,’ said Mary Jane and gave the letter back.

‘You will do this?’ asked Miss Emily in a voice which expected Mary Jane to say yes. ‘Most fortunately, you have few customers at this time of year, and an hour or so away will do you no great harm.’

Mary Jane forbore from pointing out that with the fine weather she could reasonably expect enough coffee and tea drinkers, not to mention scone eaters, to make it well worth her while to stay open from nine o‘clock until five o’clock. The good weather wouldn’t last and business was slack during the winter months. However, she liked the Misses Potter.

‘Three o’clock,’ she said. ‘That means leaving here some time after two o‘clock, doesn’t it? Yes, of course I’ll go and see Miss Mabel safely settled in.’

The ladies looked so relieved that she refilled their cups and didn’t charge them for it. ‘I hope,’ commented Miss Emily, ‘that Didums will be well enough for me to leave her so that I may visit Mabel. I do not know how long she will be in the hospital.’

‘I’ll try and find out for you.’ The tea-room door opened and four people came in and she left them to their coffee while she attended to her new customers: two elderly couples who ate a gratifying number of scones and ordered a pot of coffee. Mary Jane took it as a sign that obliging the Misses Potter when she really hadn’t wanted to would be rewarded by more customers than usual and more money in the till.

Indeed, it seemed that that was the case; she was kept nicely busy for the next few days so that she turned the ‘Open’ notice to ‘Closed’ with reluctance. It was another lovely day, and more people than usual had come in for coffee and if today was anything like yesterday she could have filled the little tea-room for most of the afternoon...

Miss Mabel wore an air of stunned resignation, getting into the taxi without needing to be coaxed, and Mary Jane’s warm heart was wrung by the unhappiness on her companion’s face. She strove to find cheerful topics of conversation, chattering away in a manner most unusual for her so that by the time they reached the hospital her tongue was cleaving to the roof of her mouth. At least there was no delay; they were taken at once to the ward and Miss Potter was invited to undress and get into bed while Mary Jane recited necessary information to the ward clerk, a jolly, friendly woman who gave her a leaflet about visiting and telephoning and information as to where the canteen was. ‘Sister will be coming along in a minute; you might like a word with her.’

Mary Jane went back to Miss Potter’s cubicle and found that lady was lying in bed, looking pale although she mustered a smile.

‘Sister’s coming to see you in a minute,’ said Mary Jane. ‘I’ll take your clothes back with me, shall I, and bring them again when you’re getting up?’ She cocked an ear at the sound of feet coming down the ward. ‘Here’s Sister.’

It was Sir Thomas Latimer as well, in a long white coat, his hands in his trouser pockets. He wished Miss Potter a cheerful good afternoon, gave Mary Jane a cool stare and addressed himself to his patient.

He had a lovely bedside manner, Mary Jane reflected, soothing and friendly and yet conveying the firm impression that whatever he said or did would be right. Mary Jane watched Miss Potter relax, even smile a little, and edged towards the curtains; if he was going to examine his patient he wouldn’t want her there.

‘Stay,’ he told her without turning his head.

She very much wanted to say ‘I shan’t,’ but Miss Potter’s precarious calm must not be disturbed. She gave the back of his head a look to pierce his skull and stayed where she was.

She had had a busy day and she was a little tired. She eased herself from one foot to the other and wished she could be like Sister, standing on the other side of the bed. A handsome woman, still young and obviously highly efficient. She and Sir Thomas exchanged brief remarks from time to time, none of which made sense to her, not that they were meant to. She stifled a yawn, smiled at Miss Potter and eased a foot out of a shoe.

Sister might be efficient, she was kind too; Miss Potter was getting more and more cheerful by the minute, and when Sir Thomas finally finished and sat down on her side of the bed she smiled, properly this time, and took the hand he offered her, listening to his reassuring voice. It was when he said, ‘Now I think we might let Miss...?’ that he turned to look at Mary Jane.

‘Seymour,’ she told him frostily, cramming her foot back into its shoe.

His eyes went from her face to her feet, his face expressionless.

‘Miss Potter may be visited the day after tomorrow. Her sister is free to telephone whenever she wishes to. I shall operate tomorrow morning at eight o’clock. Miss Potter should be back in her bed well before noon.’ He added, ‘You are on the telephone?’

‘Me? No. We use the post office and Miss Kemble at the rectory will take a message. Everyone knows the Misses Potter. I’ve given the ward clerk several numbers she can ring. But someone will phone at noon tomorrow.’