A Mistletoe Kiss (31 page)

The professor laughed. ‘I have an extremely crusty old father myself,' he said. ‘And why have I suddenly become Professor again after we agreed to address each other by our first names? I'm far more likely to take offence over that than over anything your mother might say to me.'

‘Oh, that's all right then,' Agatha said with a gaiety which even to her own ears sounded a little false. ‘To tell you the truth, M-Max, it feels a bit cheeky to call you by your first name, but I'll do so in future. After all, you called me Agatha just now.' She opened the gate and led him up the path, unlocked the front door, and ushered her companion inside.

Once indoors she realised, without surprise, that her mother must have been watching for her, since the parlour door shot open and Mrs Preece appeared in her best dark purple dress. Agatha hastily introduced the professor and her mother smiled graciously, then held the parlour door invitingly open. ‘Good afternoon, Professor Galera, how nice to meet you at last! Do come through; now you've arrived my maid will bring in the tea.'

Agatha and Max shed their coats and went into the parlour whilst Mrs Preece rapped lightly on the kitchen door. When she returned, her daughter gave her an accusing glare. ‘Really, Mother!' she murmured under her breath. ‘Whatever made you say such a thing?
As if two women, living alone, would even think of employing a maid. I suppose you bribed some poor girl …'

There was a rattling in the doorway and Mrs Simpson wheeled in a tea trolley containing all the equipment needed for tea, including a plate of buttered scones, another of biscuits and a third upon which reposed a large fruit cake. To Agatha's horror, she bobbed a sort of half-curtsey and began to hand round the dainty side plates which Agatha had only ever seen through the glass of the china cabinet, whilst Mrs Preece started to pour three cups of tea. Agatha looked at the professor and saw his lips twitch even as Mrs Simpson began to manoeuvre the trolley across a ruck in the carpet … where it lurched, gave a protesting creak as one of its wheels folded inward, and deposited fruit cake, scones and most of the biscuits upon the parlour floor. The teapot slid, heading for a similar fate, but Mrs Preece grabbed it just in time to avert disaster.

‘Oh, bugger!' the ‘maid' squawked, dropping to her knees and beginning to pile the well-buttered scones back on the plate. She raised a pink and rather sweaty face to Agatha's. ‘I telled your mam I'd mek a pig's ear of it, but she were that keen to impress your feller …'

Agatha blinked at their neighbour's sudden Scouse accent, then picked up the fruit cake and slammed it back on to its plate, and turned to her mother. ‘No wonder the wheel gave way,' she said crossly. ‘I don't believe this trolley has been used for twenty or thirty
years. And now I think you'd better introduce Mrs Simpson to my friend. After all, she
is
our next-door neighbour.'

By this time, the professor also had dropped to his knees to collect the scones, many of which had fallen buttered side down, and Agatha could see that he was doing this in order to hide his amusement. But when Mrs Simpson staggered to her feet and held out a buttery hand he shook it gravely, though a moment later Agatha saw him surreptitiously wiping his palm on the lace tablecloth with which her mother had decorated the top of the trolley. She glanced angrily towards her mother, the words
Pride comes before a fall
hovering on her lips, but Mrs Preece gave her no opportunity to speak.

‘Dear, dear, dear, what a dreadful thing to happen,' the old lady said gaily. ‘That trolley has been in my family for a hundred years. What a good thing it was that I'd already poured the tea, because if that had landed on the carpet I should have been most distressed.' She took the plate of scones from its place, gave them a penetrating glance and then, with obvious regret, returned the plate to the trolley and smiled sweetly at the professor. ‘I dare say you'd not fancy a scone, though they were freshly baked this morning,' she said. ‘However, I'm sure my maid … my neighbour, I mean, will cut you slice of the fruit cake, if you would prefer it.'

The professor regained his seat and his composure and, though he thanked Mrs Preece, declined the treat. ‘I've booked a table at the Adelphi for seven o'clock
and your daughter tells me you're on the telephone, so if you don't object I mean to ring for a taxi, for we really should be leaving just as soon as I've finished this delicious cup of tea.'

By now everything had been restored to the trolley, though it still leaned at a precarious angle. Mrs Simpson, with many a mutter of ‘I told you so' in Mrs Preece's direction, took one end of it whilst Agatha took the other. ‘You'd best carry the teapot, Mother,' Agatha said stiffly. ‘It would be too bad if that hit the deck as well.' She was dying to get her mother to herself so that she could tell her what she thought of her behaviour, but by the time the three of them, and the trolley, had reached the kitchen, she realised that this would scarcely get their evening off to a good start, and decided to swallow her spleen, for now, at any rate. Instead, she thanked Mrs Simpson with real sincerity for her help, and began to say how sorry she was for what had happened, but Mrs Simpson waved her apology aside. ‘It were a bit of fun, and no harm done,' she said, and giggled. ‘That there's a poem, ain't it, Miss Agatha? And your feller took it well, wouldn't you say? I likes his looks; reckon you could do a lot worse.'

‘He's not my feller …' Agatha started, then gave up. Whatever she said, the professor would be known as ‘Miss Preece's feller' whenever his name came up. Better to ignore it for now and tell Mrs Simpson, later, not to listen to her mother's flights of fancy.

As they parked the trolley by the sink, Mrs Preece set down the teapot and hurried back to the parlour.
Agatha turned to Mrs Simpson. ‘I'd love to help you to clear up this mess and put everything away, but you heard what the professor said; even if a taxi arrives within five or ten minutes of his telephone call, we shall only just reach the Adelphi by seven o'clock,' she said. ‘But if you'd like to leave it – the washing up and clearing away, I mean – then Mother and I will tackle it when we get home.'

‘Don't you worry, queen,' Mrs Simpson said comfortably. ‘Your mam's already paid me to do an extra two hours, so I still owe you some time. You go off and enjoy yourself …'

Agatha cut in hastily before Mrs Simpson could end the sentence with ‘with your feller', since she could hear sounds from the hall indicating that the professor was ringing for a taxi. Very soon, warmly clad in coats, hats and scarves, they set off for the Adelphi.

When Agatha entered Fuller's on Ranelagh Street next day, where she and Max – she must remember to use his first name – were to meet, she was delighted, but not at all surprised, to find him seated at a window table waiting for her. He was the sort of man, she now realised, who would always be early for an appointment rather than late, and since she herself was of the same kidney she thought it augured well for their friendship.

Smiling, she walked slowly over to the little table and took the seat opposite. ‘Good morning, Max. I trust you had a good night's sleep. I must tell you that my mother thinks you are a prince amongst professors.' She chuckled. ‘You certainly know how to treat crotchety old ladies!'

Max tutted reprovingly, but his eyes twinkled. ‘Your mother is not a crotchety old lady, or at least she was not crotchety last evening. In fact she was very good company, although to tell you the truth I could have wished her at Jericho if it had meant more time for you and me to get to know one another.'

Agatha felt her cheeks grow warm, but told herself briskly that he was just being polite. The trouble was she knew so little about young men … not that the
professor was young, exactly. Looking at him attentively across the table now as he ordered two cups of coffee from a hovering waitress, she thought that his time in Spain had aged him.

As the waitress departed to get their order, Max leaned across the table and took her hand. ‘It was a trifle awkward last evening, with your mother present, to talk about our plans for today,' he said. ‘But first of all I must remind you that I'm on my way to Durham, which is where my father and stepmother now live. Michael is already there and we mean to have a family Christmas together. So, much though I would like to spend more than a couple of days in Liverpool, I'm afraid it isn't possible. You see, I'm on embarkation leave. I expect you know what that means.'

Agatha felt a stab of dismay chill her blood. ‘It means they're sending you abroad,' she said in a low voice. ‘Oh, Max, I thought that it was the army and Navy who went away from Britain, not the air force. Where will you be going; is it far?'

‘I'm not supposed to know where I'm going, but because I'm a flying instructor I suspect it might be either South Africa, Rhodesia or North America.' He gave her a rueful grin. ‘First I spend more than a year writing to you, then I see you for a couple of days, and now I'll have to start wielding my pen all over again.'

Agatha gave him a timid smile. ‘I like receiving letters, but of course it would be much nicer if we could meet,' she said shyly. ‘Now that the first awfulness of
knowing we're at war has passed, it's easy to think that life is simply going to go on as usual. But it won't, of course; you know that better than anyone, and I suppose Michael must as well. Is he going abroad too? Are you both on embarkation leave?'

‘No, Michael is aircrew, a navigator in a Wellington bomber. He's got four days' leave, which is why he's already in Durham. Because I've got longer, I'm expected to do the round of relatives and old friends, but I snatched a couple of days so that you and I could meet. I wish you could come up to Durham. Is there …'

‘Coffee for two,' the waitress said, cutting across what Max had been about to say. ‘Nothing to eat, sir? We've some fresh baked scones, just out of the oven.'

Max raised his eyebrows at Agatha and smiled as she shook her head. The waitress moved away and Max leaned towards Agatha once more. ‘I'll never hear the word “scones” again without thinking of your mother. How beautifully she carried it off! But did she honestly believe that anyone employs servants in this day and age? I thought even the royal family were having staff difficulties.'

Agatha laughed. ‘When my mother gets the bit between her teeth, nothing daunts her,' she observed. ‘But what were you about to say when the waitress interrupted?'

‘I was wondering whether it would be possible for you to get some leave – time off, I mean – so that you might come up to Durham for a few days. I'd like you to meet my father and my stepmother, but most of all
I'd like to introduce you to Michael. He's supposed to be very like me, though personally I can't see it.' He looked hopefully at her. ‘But if you could come up to Durham, you could judge for yourself.'

Agatha looked down at her hands. The last thing she wanted to do was to meet Michael, if indeed Max's brother had been the man who had knocked her over, blamed her for the collision and then called her a cripple. But she certainly did not intend to let the professor know about that long-ago incident. After all, Michael must have changed considerably in the five years which had elapsed since then; and anyway, Max's suggestion that she should visit Durham was out of the question.

She began to mumble, then took a deep breath and met Max's eyes squarely. ‘It's awfully kind of you to ask me, but I'm afraid it's quite impossible,' she said. ‘My assistant librarian has been accepted by the WAAF and might leave me at any time and in any event, I have to give the authority a fair amount of notice even to have a day off.'

‘I guessed what your answer would have to be, but I thought it was worth asking,' Max said, giving her a rueful smile. ‘It was a bit of a cheek to suggest it, I suppose, but I've met your mother, so why shouldn't you meet my father? However, I accept that it's impossible at present; let us say it's a pleasure deferred, because I'm bound to get back to Britain sometime, and when I do I'll make straight for Liverpool and do my caveman act and carry you off to Durham, even if the library authority refuses to give you leave.'

Agatha laughed; she could not imagine the urbane man seated opposite her dressed in animal skins with a big club over his shoulder, but when she said as much he shook his head at her. ‘That just shows you don't know me very well yet,' he said. ‘I'm a devil when roused, and any sort of opposition brings out the worst in me.'

He was trying to frown, but his eyes twinkled and Agatha, remembering her collision with his brother, almost said that caveman tactics must run in the family, but bit the words back; she must forget the whole sorry incident. ‘Then I won't oppose you, so long as you don't irritate me beyond bearing,' she said laughingly instead. ‘And now, what are your plans for today? You said something about shopping for Christmas presents …'

‘I want you to help me choose something pretty for my stepmama and something warm and useful for my grandmother,' Max said. ‘And then we'll have lunch somewhere nice and I thought we might go to the cinema this afternoon, if there's anything showing that you'd like to see. But once I've bought my presents, the day is our own.'

‘I'll do my best to help you choose,' Agatha said, but her thoughts, as they left Fuller's and headed for Lewis's, were somewhat chaotic. It had just occurred to her that, according to others, a man did not ask you home to meet his parents unless he was serious. But she must remember that war changed everything, including attitudes. She and Max might never be more
than good friends, but even good friends exchange visits from time to time. If he asked her again to go to Durham – if he gave her enough warning, that was – then she really would do her best to go, even if it meant facing the man who had knocked her down and called her a cripple.