nurse came back. ‘Sir Thomas has many patients, Mrs Seymour, and some need more time than others.’
Five minutes later the door opened and an elderly lady, walking with sticks, came out accompanied by Sir Thomas, who shook her hand and handed her over to the nurse.
He went back into his consulting-room and closed the door and Mary Jane decided that he hadn’t noticed her.
However, he had. He put the folder on his desk and went over to the window and looked out, surprised at the pleasure he had felt at the sight of her. He went back to his desk and opened the folder; this Mrs Seymour he was to see must be a sister-in-law—she and Mary Jane came from the same village.
He went and sat down and asked his nurse over the intercom to send in Mrs Seymour.
He could find nothing wrong with her at all; she described endless symptoms in a rather whining voice; none of which he could substantiate. Nevertheless, he sent her to the X-ray unit on the floor above and listened patiently to her renewed complaints when she returned.
‘If you will return in the morning,’ he told her, ‘when the X-ray results will be ready, I hope that I will be able to reassure you. I can find nothing wrong with you, Mrs Seymour, but we can discuss that tomorrow. Shall we say ten o’clock?’
‘He is no good,’ declared Margaret as they walked back. ‘I shall find another specialist...’
‘You could at least wait and see what the X-rays show,’ suggested Mary Jane sensibly. ‘Why not have a rest in your room and an early night after dinner?’
First, though, they had tea in the hotel lounge and since it was, rather surprisingly, quite a substantial one, Mary Jane made the most of it, a little surprised at Margaret, despite her pain, eating a great many sandwiches and cream cakes. Left on her own, she poured a last cup of tea and thought about Sir Thomas. She hadn’t expected him to recognise her and after all he had had but the barest glimpse as he had stood in the doorway. As he had ushered Margaret out of his consulting-room he hadn’t looked in her direction. All the same, it was interesting to have seen him again in his own environment, as it were. Very remote and professional, thought Mary Jane, eating a last sandwich, not a bit like the man who had pushed his way into her tea-room, demanding tea for his friend. She sighed for no reason at all, picked up a magazine and sat reading, a girl not worth a second glance, until it was time to go up to Margaret’s room and warn her that dinner would be in half an hour.
Getting Margaret there by ten o’clock was rather an effort but she managed it, to be told by the nurse that Sir Thomas had been at one of the hospitals since the early hours of the morning operating on an emergency case. He would be with them as soon as possible and in the meantime perhaps they would like coffee?
‘Well, this is really too bad,’ grumbled Margaret. ‘I am a private patient...’
‘This was an emergency, Mrs Seymour,’ said the nurse smoothly and went to get the coffee.
Mary Jane sat allowing Margaret’s indignant whine to pass over her head. Like him or not, she felt sorry for Sir Thomas, up half the night and then having to cope with someone like Margaret instead of having a nap. She hoped he wouldn’t be too tired...
When he came presently he looked exactly like a man who had enjoyed a good night’s sleep, with time to dress with his usual elegance and eat a good breakfast. Only, when she peeped at him while he was greeting Margaret, she saw that there were tired lines around his eyes. He caught her staring at him when he turned to bid her good morning and she blushed a little. He watched the pretty colour pinken her cheeks and smiled. It was a kind and friendly smile and she was taken by surprise by it.
‘Your patient? Was the operation successful?’ She went even pinker; perhaps she shouldn’t have asked—it wasn’t any of her business.
‘Entirely, thank you—a good start to my day.’ Thank heaven he hadn’t sounded annoyed, thought Mary Jane.
The nurse led Margaret away then, and Mary Jane sat and looked at the glossy magazines scattered around her. The models in them looked as though they should still be at school and were so thin that she longed to feed them up on good wholesome food. Some of the clothes were lovely but since she was never likely to wear any of them she took care not to want them too much.
I’m the wrong shape, she told herself, unaware that despite her thinness she had a pretty, curvy figure and nice legs, concealed by the tweed suit.
The door opened and Sir Thomas showed Margaret back into the waiting-room, and it was quite obvious that Margaret was in a dreadful temper whereas he presented an impeturbable manner. He didn’t look at Mary Jane but shook Margaret’s reluctant hand, wished her goodbye with cool courtesy and went back into his consulting-room.
Margaret took no notice of the nurse’s polite goodbyes but flounced down to the street. ‘I told you he was no good,’ she hissed. ‘The man’s a fool, he says there is nothing wrong with me.’ She gave a nasty little laugh. ‘I’m to take more exercise, if you please—walk for an hour, mind you—each day, make beds, work in the garden, be active. I have suffered for years with my back, I’m quite unable to do anything strenuous; if you knew the hours I spend lying on the chaise longue...’
‘Perhaps that’s why your back hurts,’ suggested Mary Jane matter-of-factly.
‘Don’t be stupid. You can drive me home and I shall tell Dr Fellowes exactly what I think of him and his specialist.’
‘He must know what he’s talking about,’ observed Mary Jane rashly, ‘otherwise he wouldn’t be a consultant, would he?’
‘What do you know about it, anyway?’ asked Margaret rudely. They had reached the hotel. ‘Get your bag and get someone to bring the car round. We’re leaving now.’
It was a pleasant autumn day; the drive would have been agreeable too if only Margaret would have stopped talking. Luckily she didn’t need any answers, so Mary Jane was able to think her own thoughts.
She wasn’t invited in when they arrived at the house. Mary Jane, to whom it had been home for happy years, hadn’t expected that anyway. ‘You can drive the car round to the garage before you go,’ said Margaret without so much as a thank-you.
‘Oliver can do that whenever he comes back; if you mind about it being parked outside you can drive it round yourself, Margaret; I’m going home.’ She added rather naughtily, ‘Don’t forget that hour’s walk each day.’
‘Come back,’ ordered Margaret. ‘How can you be so cruel, leaving me like this?’
Mary Jane was already walking down the short drive. She called over her shoulder, ‘But you’re home, Margaret, and Sir Thomas said that there was nothing wrong with you...’
‘I’ll never speak to you again.’
‘Oh, good.’
Mary Jane nipped smartly out of the open gate and down to the village. It was still mid-afternoon; she would open the tea-room in the hope that some passing motorist would fancy a pot of tea and scones. First she would have a meal; breakfast was hours ago and Margaret had refused to stop on the way. Beans on toast, she decided happily, opening her door.
Brimble was waiting for her, she picked him up and tucked him under an arm while she opened windows, turned the sign round to ‘Open’
