The Vicar's Daughter

by Betty Neels

  ‘I’ll be down in ten minutes,’ he told her. ‘Pour me a drink, will you?’

  Presently, settled in his chair, the drink beside him, he asked her if she had had a pleasant day.

  ‘Delightful,’ said Margo. ‘But what about you? Or don’t you want to talk about it? If you do, I’d love to hear.’

  He looked faintly surprised. ‘Would you? I have always had the impression that people don’t like to know what goes on in operating theatres.’

  ‘Well, I’m the exception. I dare say I won’t understand half of it, but I’m interested.’ When he hesitated she asked, ‘Were you in Theatre all day?’

  ‘No, no. I had a clinic this morning—that lasted until almost noon—then I went to the ward and from there to Theatre.’

  ‘Did you have lunch?’

  He laughed then. ‘You sound just like a wife. I had a sandwich and coffee in Sister’s office.’

  Margo suppressed an instant stab of jealousy. Probably the sister was young and pretty and very clever. ‘Well, Mattie has cooked a marvellous meal. Was your nanny a good cook too?’

  ‘She made excellent chips—we had them for a treat when we had been good—and toffee. We all made toffee on wet afternoons.’

  ‘You were a happy little boy...’

  She felt such a surge of love that she couldn’t speak for a moment.

  ‘Yes, indeed I was. And you, Margo? Were you a happy child?’

  ‘Yes, I was happy too. You never lose it, do you? The memory of happiness?’

  ‘No—and what a good thing that is.’

  Mattie came then to tell them that dinner was on the table—a delicious meal of soup, beef en croûte and apple crumble with cream, helped along by Chardonnay. Margo had chosen the meal carefully; Gijs was a very large man, and she thought it very likely that meals, if he ever got to them, might not be eaten at the right times—and even then they might consist of sandwiches.

  They talked about nothing much as they ate, comfortable with each other’s company, and when Mattie brought them their coffee at the table Gijs observed, ‘You haven’t lost your touch, Mattie. Dinner was excellent.’

  Mattie smiled widely. ‘Well, now, Mr Gijs, I’ve kept my hand in, as it were, but the apple crumble Mrs van Kessel made—as good as ever I could myself!’

  ‘How fortunate I am,’ murmured the professor, ‘with two good cooks to look after me. I must congratulate you both!’

  * * *

  THE NEXT MORNING Margo went to their mews cottage armed with a notebook, pen and tape measure. A practical girl, she drew a careful plan of the little place, putting in measurements, inspecting the rooms carefully and imagining them furnished.

  The pieces from Arntzstein would fit in beautifully, though the furniture they bought would have to be of the same period. The floors were wooden, so they would have rugs downstairs and fitted carpets in the bedrooms. The kitchen had its original stone floor and would need matting in front of the Aga. The room leading from it would be Mattie’s—another fitted carpet, Margo decided, and warm curtains at the window. And, since Mattie was going to live in it, she should be allowed to furnish it as she liked.

  Margo went back for lunch then, and spent a delightful but tiring afternoon collecting samples of material for curtains, deciding on the best shop at which to get the carpets and browsing through Harrods’ kitchen departments.

  Gijs came home soon after she had had tea, but when she got up to get him a fresh pot he declined.

  ‘I had a cup in Sister’s office. What have you done with yourself today?’

  She told him, showing him her carefully drawn plan and then the samples of material and the colour charts.

  ‘If you aren’t too tired would you tell me the kind of curtains you would like and the colours? I won’t bother you again unless you want to be.’ She hesitated. ‘I don’t expect you would have the time to come to the shop and choose with me?’

  ‘The day after tomorrow. I’ll come home for lunch and we’ll go together. I’ll have to go back to the hospital afterwards, and then on to my consulting rooms, but I can be free until four o’clock.’

  * * *

  HOW EASY IT was to shop, reflected Margo, sitting beside Gijs trying to decide exactly which shade of mulberry-red was right for the sitting-room curtains, when there was no need to look at the price ticket. What a good thing it was, too, that they had similar tastes when it came to carpets and curtains.

  Chintz curtains in the bedrooms and mushroom fitted carpets, and no stair carpet, they agreed, since the small staircase was oak, with the patina of age. As for rugs and carpets downstairs, they would hunt for them in the Cotswolds, taking their time.

  He drove her back on his way to the hospital and she spent a delightful half-hour with Mattie discussing Mattie’s wishes for her own room before going to her room and changing into one of her pretty dresses. Probably Gijs wouldn’t notice it, but she intended to leave no stone unturned.

  She need not have bothered. He came home just after ten o’clock that evening, and, since the dinner Mattie had so lovingly prepared was ruined, Margo cooked him bacon and eggs and mushrooms and fried bread, and without asking poured him a glass of Guinness.

  He came into the kitchen while she was cooking and sat himself down at the table. ‘I didn’t expect this,’ he told her.

  Margo prodded the bacon. ‘Well, from now on you can. Don’t forget that I was brought up in a household where the master of the house came and went at all hours of the day and night. Father—’ she gulped in sudden sorrow ‘—was at everyone’s beck and call. Just as I think you are.’

  He said mildly, ‘Neither your father nor I would wish for anything different.’

  She nodded. ‘So it’s a good thing that you married me, isn’t it?’

  She was dishing up and didn’t see his look. ‘A very good thing,’ he observed.

  She sat opposite him while he ate and soon after poured coffee for them both, and in a little while he began to tell her of his afternoon’s work. There had been complications at the hospital and the patients he had seen at his rooms had taken up more time than he had expected. Small children suffering from unpronounceable illnesses which she couldn’t even guess at. She would have to get a medical dictionary, she reflected. She listened intelligently and went to bed presently, glowing with the thought that he had enjoyed talking to her.

  * * *

  ON SUNDAY, WHEN they went to the cottage, she was astonished to see that the bedroom carpets had already been fitted.

  ‘But it’s only been days...’

  ‘I did mention that we wanted to move into the place as quickly as possible.’ Gijs had wandered out into the tiny garden behind the cottage. ‘The pieces from Arntzstein should be here this week. I should be free next Saturday—we might look for carpets. Persian in the sitting room, don’t you think?’

  They went home presently, and Margo cooked lunch as Mattie had her day off and had gone to visit a niece on the other side of London.

  Aunt Florence was pleased to see them, and even more pleased were Caesar and Plato.

  ‘Shall we take them back with us?’ asked Margo.

  ‘If you must. But wouldn’t it be sensible to wait until you move into your own home?’ Aunt Flo said matter-of-factly. ‘Another week or two won’t make much difference.’

  So they went back to London without the animals, and, seeing Margo’s downcast face, the professor said, ‘We should be able to move in two weeks’ time. Once we have the place furnished we can take our time with making it home.’

  A very reassuring remark, Margo considered.

  * * *

  AN ACCURATE ONE, too, as it turned out. Standing in the centre of the cottage’s kitchen, Margo revolved slowly, admiring the rows of new saucepans, the china on the wooden dresser they
had found in a Cotswold town and the solid wooden table with the Windsor chairs at each end of it. There was still a good deal to do, she conceded, but the splendid Persian rug in the sitting room was exactly right with the Dutch marquetry cabinet and sofa table which had been brought over from Holland and the two sofas on each side of the fireplace were lovely.

  The bedrooms were almost complete. The four-poster in her room was nicely offset by the applewood dressing table and bedside tables. They had found a chaise longue, too, for the foot of the bed, and two George IV bergères, whose faded tapestry upholstery blended nicely with the curtains. Downstairs in the hall was a long-case clock, walnut and marquetry, which they had come across quite by chance and for which Gijs had paid what Margo considered to be a small fortune.

  There was still a lot to be done; the third bedroom was by no means complete and she was looking forward to a morning in Harrods choosing towels to match the bathrooms. But Mattie’s room was finished, and as comfortable as it was possible to make it. She wandered upstairs and looked in Gijs’s room. A picture or two would make it look cosier. She went over to the chest of drawers and picked up his hairbrushes, and then the little leather box where he kept his cuff-links. After a few moments she put them down gently and went out of the room, closing the door behind her.

  She mustn’t allow herself to get downhearted, even though Gijs seemed no nearer to falling in love with her. They had settled down to an easygoing comradeship, and she was sure that he enjoyed her company. All the same there was an invisible wall between them; she was being held, metaphorically speaking, at arm’s length. He had told her that they could get to know each other once they were married and she had been content with that, but in two weeks’ time they would go to Holland again, and they were no closer now than they had been when they had married.

  ‘I mustn’t worry about it,’ said Margo aloud, and went back to the kitchen to see how Caesar and Plato had settled in.

  That evening the professor’s youngest sister phoned. She was coming over to London to do some shopping and wanted to stay for a day or two.

  ‘Can you manage, Margo?’ asked Gijs. ‘It’s short notice...’

  His youngest sister, Corinne, was his favourite. ‘Of course,’ said Margo happily; it would mean dashing out in the morning and buying one or two things, but Corinne wasn’t coming for a couple of days yet. A small easy chair, thought Margo, and bedspreads for the beds, and that lovely flower painting I saw in that art gallery. ‘It will be lovely to have her. Will she be on her own?’

  ‘Yes, Julius is going to Sweden on business for a week.’

  They had been married for two years, Margo remembered, and she wondered why Corinne didn’t want to go to Sweden with him. A pity she didn’t know Gijs well enough to ask him...

  * * *

  THE ROOM LOOKED delightful when it was ready, with flowers in a little porcelain vase, a pile of fluffy towels in the bathroom and the bedspreads of pastel patchwork. Margo laid a small pile of magazines on one of the bedside tables, made sure that the water carafe was full and went downstairs to wait for her guest.

  Corinne was laughing and talking to Gijs, who had been to fetch her from Heathrow, as they entered the cottage. She was a very pretty young woman and beautifully dressed, and she embraced Margo with warmth.

  ‘What a dear you are to let me come and stay with you so soon after you’re married. I promise I will not play gooseberry.’ She trilled with laughter. ‘I shall go shopping, and I do hope that you will come with me, but I promise I will not be a nuisance.’

  ‘It’s lovely to have you,’ said Margo, and meant it. ‘I love shopping, and Gijs and I are very pleased to see you.’

  ‘I look forward to going to the theatre—it is a play I long to see—and the party will be such fun...’

  Margo wiped the astonishment off her face and planted a smile there. Theatre? Party? It was the first she had heard of either. ‘Come up to your room,’ she invited. ‘Tea will be in ten minutes or so.’

  She took care not to look at Gijs, and led the way upstairs, made sure that Corinne had everything she needed then went back to the drawing room.

  The professor was sitting in an armchair with Plato pressed up against his knees and Caesar perched on its arm.

  ‘Don’t get up,’ said Margo in a voice to freeze him solid, and bent to give the fire an unnecessary poke.

  ‘It was to be a surprise,’ said the professor mildly. ‘The theatre. My fault; I should have warned Corinne not to mention it. As for the party, that is something I had hoped to discuss with you this evening, but perhaps I should wait until you have gone off the boil!’

  He gave her a friendly smile, having cut the ground neatly from under her.

  ‘I am not—’ began Margo, and then added, ‘Oh, why are you always right?’ She caught his eye and burst out laughing. ‘You are sometimes a very tiresome man!’ She added swiftly, ‘And don’t say that I am tiresome too, because I know that already.’

  ‘Never tiresome, Margo. Indeed, since we married—’ He broke off as the door opened and Corinne came in, followed by Mattie with the teatray. Margo wondered what he had been going to say as she handed out cups and offered toasted teacakes.

  Later that evening, when Corinne had gone to bed, he had the chance to tell her, but he didn’t, merely brought up the subject of the party again.

  ‘Dinner?’ he wanted to know. ‘Eight or ten of us? It’s time you met some of my colleagues and their wives, and for Corinne we’ll ask a couple of younger, unattached men. Will you agree to that? And, to make things easy, why don’t you both come with me to the hospital governers’ tea party on Saturday? It’s hardly an exciting occasion, but I can introduce you to everyone and break the ice for you.’

  Margo agreed; she suspected that if she hadn’t he would still have got his own way. ‘And the theatre?’ she wanted to know.

  ‘Tomorrow evening—can we dine early?’

  She agreed readily, with the unhappy thought that he was exerting himself to amuse his sister but had failed to do the same for her. Time for another visit to the hairdresser and a prowl round the cosmetic counters, she decided. Perhaps a new dress? Supposing she dyed her hair? She had long, silky hair, but mouse-brown had never been in fashion. Highlights, perhaps? A hint of gold or even auburn...?

  ‘What are you plotting?’ Gijs said suddenly.

  ‘I was deciding what to do about my hair. I think perhaps I’ll have it cut very short and then highlighted...’

  ‘No,’ said the professor, in such a forceful voice that she looked at him, surprised. ‘I like your hair as it is; it suits your face.’

  ‘Well, that’s the whole point. If I had something dramatic done to my hair it might improve my looks.’

  ‘Your looks are very nice as they are. I would much prefer you to leave your hair as it is.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Margo, reflecting that he probably found that her unassuming appearance didn’t distract him from his work. She remembered the rather striking dress she had seen in Harrods’ window; it would do nicely for the dinner party, and even if he didn’t notice it the guests might...

  * * *

  CORINNE WAS THE ideal guest, knowing just when to disappear for an hour or so, and a delightful companion for Margo. They shopped the very next day, and while Corinne was trying on evening gowns Margo slipped away to look at the dress she had decided to buy herself. When she tried it on she could see that it wasn’t for her—the colour was too vivid, the skirt was shorter than short and her sensible mind queried the sense of paying a great deal of money for a few yards of material, however costly that material was. Instead she chose something quite different—pink patterned chiffon over a silk slip, with an ankle-length skirt, long, tight sleeves and a modest neckline. She thought it likely that Gijs wouldn’t notice it.

  The visit to the t
heatre was a great success. Gijs had tickets for Sunset Boulevard and Margo sat entranced until the final curtain. She had loved every minute of it, and not only the performance but also the theatre, with its bright lights, and the audience, the music and the volume of voices during the interval. She sat like a mouse, noticing nothing else, and the professor, watching her rapt face, smiled to himself. It was rather like taking his nieces to the circus for the first time...

  He took them to the Savoy for a late supper after the show, and Corinne’s happy chatter made it unnecessary to do more than reply briefly from time to time.

  On Saturday afternoon they went to the hospital governors’ tea party and Margo was introduced to Gijs’s colleagues and their wives, some of whom would be coming to the dinner party. They were friendly people, bent on making her feel at home, and presently Gijs went to speak to one of the governors, leaving her with a group of the wives.

  ‘We were so delighted when we heard that Gijs was to marry,’ said one lady, slightly older than the rest of them. ‘A consultant, especially a paediatrician, needs a wife.’ She beamed kindly at Margo. ‘And I am sure that you are exactly right for him—a vicar’s daughter, I believe?’

  Margo said that yes, she was, and that she hoped she would be a help to Gijs—a remark which earned her the approbation of her listeners.

  Gijs was still at the other end of the room, but she could see Corinne talking animatedly to a youngish man with dark good looks. They were getting on very well together—perhaps they had met somewhere else. Margo, mindful of good manners, bent her full attention to a girl with a lisp, married to the hospital secretary, who wanted to know what she had thought of Holland.

  The intervening days before the dinner party were taken up with more shopping on Corinne’s part. ‘I’m going out on my own,’ she told Margo gaily. ‘You must have heaps of things that you want to do and I know my own way round. I’ll stop out for lunch...’

  Which suited Margo very well, for she wanted the dinner party to be a success and she needed time to have everything just so. She and Mattie had already put their heads together and thought up a menu, and while Mattie saw to the food she busied herself with the table and the seating arrangements. Everyone who had been asked had accepted.