by Betty Neels
‘Oughtn’t I to say goodnight?’ asked Polly.
‘I don’t see that it matters,’ observed Mrs Talbot cheerfully, ‘if you don’t like each other…’
CHAPTER TWO
PROFESSOR GERVIS fetched Polly the next morning, coldly polite and nothing else. He didn’t mention Sir Ronald, merely drove her to the house, deposited her at the door, rang the bell and stalked back to his car. She didn’t see him for the rest of the day, although Briggs brought her coffee, while she worked and her usual lunch tray. The house was quiet, and determinedly putting everything out of her head other than her work, she typed steadily. At five o’clock she put the completed pages on the desk in the study and went home.
Two more days went by in the same manner, although Sir Ronald’s daughter and son were in the house now. But they made no attempt to see her, and save for Briggs she spoke to no one. And the next day was the funeral.
Her mother and father would go, of course, but even if she had had any idea of going herself, they were scotched by the note left on her desk.
‘Be good enough to remain here after your day’s work. I wish to speak to you.’ It was signed S. G.
Polly read it well twice, tore it into little pieces and put them tidily in the waste paper basket, and when it was five o’clock and there was no sign of him, she covered her typewriter and strolled into the garden.
There had been a good deal of coming and going during the day, but the garden was quiet; cars had been leaving for the last hour or so and she supposed the last one had gone. She sat quietly in the last of the sun, deliberately shutting out speculations as to her future. She had promised she would finish the book, so she would do that, but only because Sir Ronald had wanted it so badly. There was nothing about the Professor, she decided, that would encourage her to do anything for him at all.
He came round the corner of the house, unhurriedly, just as though, she thought indignantly, she had the entire evening to waste waiting for him.
‘I’ve kept you waiting.’ There was no hint of apology in his voice. ‘Is the chapter finished?’
‘No.’
He sat down beside her, sitting sideways so that he could watch her.
‘Am I rushing you if I suggest that you might be ready to leave tomorrow morning?’
‘Yes—you’ve told me almost nothing, Professor Gervis. Where do you live? How long am I to be at your house, how am I to get there…?’
‘I live at Elmley Castle, a few miles from Evesham. You will be at my house until the typescript is finished, and I shall drive you there.’ He added in a patient voice which made her grit her teeth: ‘When you are ready to go, of course.’
‘Thank you. Will you be here tomorrow?’ And when he nodded: ‘I’ll let you know then. Of course you want to get back to your own home.’
‘Naturally.’ He drove her back without another word and to her surprise got out of the car when they arrived. ‘I should like to speak to your father,’ he explained with the cool politeness she had come to expect when he wasn’t being tiresomely arrogant.
She took him along to her father’s study and repaired to the kitchen. Her sisters were out, but Ben was at the table doing his homework and her mother was making rhubarb jam. She looked round as Polly went in and smiled. ‘There you are, darling. You’re late. Did I hear a car?’
Polly cut a slice of the cake left on the old-fashioned dresser. ‘Professor Gervis brought me back. He wanted to see Father. He wants me to go back with him tomorrow, but of course I can’t.’
‘Why not, dear?’ Her mother turned a thoughtful gaze upon her. ‘He’s anxious to get this book finished, isn’t he? I suppose he’s got something to do with publishing?’
‘I haven’t the faintest idea.’ Polly stuffed the last of the cake into her mouth. ‘He seems to know a lot about it. He’s a Professor—perhaps he’s a schoolteacher.’
‘I daresay, darling. We’ll see, shall we? There’s not much you have to do, is there? It wouldn’t take a moment to pack a bag…’ Her mother still looked thoughtful. ‘They’d better have coffee, hadn’t they? Be a darling and put the cups on a tray, will you?’
Polly carried the coffee in presently, to be met by her father’s cheerful: ‘We’re just talking about you, Polly. Professor Gervis is kind enough to say that he won’t leave until tomorrow afternoon; that should give you all the time in the world to pack a few clothes and so on.’
She put the tray down on the table beside her father and didn’t look at the Professor. ‘And what about collecting the manuscript, sorting it out and so on?’
Her father beamed at her. ‘Professor Gervis will fetch you tomorrow morning and you can go through the papers together.’ He took a sip of the coffee she had handed him. ‘So you see, everything is very nicely arranged.’
Polly let her mouth open to protest and caught the Professor’s chilly eye. ‘The sooner the manuscript is typed the sooner you will be home again,’ he pointed out with the unnecessary forbearance of a grown-up cajoling a small child.
She asked woodenly: ‘What time will you be here in the morning, Professor?’
‘Ten o’clock. I imagine we can do all that’s necessary in an hour. I’ll bring you back, and perhaps we might leave at three o’clock?’
‘Very well.’ She gave her puzzled father a smile and went back to the kitchen.
Presently, his visitor gone, her father joined her. ‘A very good man, Professor Gervis. How very fortunate that he’s so enthusiastic about getting Sir Ronald’s book published. He seems to think you may be finished in a month—perhaps a little sooner. He suggests that you might like to come home for your weekends; I thought it very civil of him.’
‘Yes, Father,’ said Polly, and went away to look through her clothes, leaving him to enquire of his wife if there was anything the matter. Mrs Talbot returned his questioning look with a limpid one of her own.
‘Why do you ask, dear?’ She wanted to know. ‘It seems to me to be an ideal arrangement.’ She added: ‘Polly’s talents mustn’t be wasted.’
Polly in her bedroom was packing a suitcase with a regrettable lack of care. She was thoroughly put out; she had been got at and in a most unfair way. She promised herself that she would work all hours and get the manuscript finished just as soon as she possibly could; she would take care to see as little as possible of the Professor, and once her work was finished she would never set eyes on him again. She was dwelling on this prospect at some length when her two sisters, all agog, came tearing into the room, firing questions at her, making plans to come and visit her so that they might see more of Professor Gervis and finally unpacking her case and repacking it carefully with everything properly folded, several of her older dresses flung out, and the addition of her one and only evening dress; a rather plain pleated affair, it’s cream background patterned with bronze leaves.
And when she had protested: ‘You never know,’ declared Cora cryptically. They had wrenched her blouse and skirt from her too, declaring they weren’t fit to be seen and guaranteeing that she should have them both back looking like new by the afternoon, so that she had to wear a rather elderly jersey dress in the morning which the Professor studied with obvious dislike. Polly wished him good morning, with her normal calm, got into a Range Rover beside him and was whisked up to Wells Court, with barely a word passing between them, only, once there, she was surprised to find how helpful he was. He had already looked out all the reference books she was likely to need, all that she was left to do was check the manuscript itself and make sure that there was none of it missing. She tied it neatly into its folder, collected the paper and carbon and eraser and would have taken the typewriter too if he hadn’t told her to leave it where it was. ‘There’s the same model at my house,’ he told her. ‘We’ve enough clutter as it is. If you’ve finished Briggs shall bring coffee; I must go and say goodbye to Sir Ronald’s son and daughter.’ He paused at the door. ‘Do you know them? Would you like to meet them?’
She shoo
k her head. ‘No, thank you. There’s really no need, is there?’ And when he had gone and Briggs had brought the coffee she sat down and drank it. Sir Ronald had been a well liked figure in the village; his children, when they were home, had never bothered to get to know any of its inhabitants. Polly hardly thought they would be interested in meeting a mere schoolmaster’s daughter.
The Professor returned much more quickly than she had expected. He swept her out to the Range Rover with a breezy: ‘Good, that’s done,’ and greatly to her surprise, accepted her mother’s offer of a cup of coffee without hesitation, despite her discouraging: ‘Thanks, I’ll see you at three o’clock,’ as he had stopped outside her home. She excused herself at once, saying that she had to wash her hair, an operation she dawdled over until she heard the Range Rover being driven away.
Her sisters had been as good as their word; the blue pleated skirt looked as good as new, her cardigan had been washed and pressed to perfection and there was a small pile of blouses with a little note begging her to borrow what she wanted, ending with the hope that she would find time to buy some new clothes. She smiled as she packed them; Cora and Marian, both so fashion-conscious, had never understood why she hadn’t bothered much with clothes. She supposed it was because she had felt she would be quite unable to compete. To please them she would take them both shopping and allow them to advise her as to a completely new wardrobe. Rather a waste, for no one would notice her, but at least they wouldn’t look at her like the Professor had done that morning…
After lunch she changed into a jersey two-piece, a little old for her but suitable for a typist, she considered. And she combed her mousy hair smooth so that it fell on either side of her face almost to her shoulders. This done, she studied her reflection in the pier-glass in her room; it gave her no satisfaction at all, nor did her father’s remark that she looked very neat do anything to improve her ego, although her mother bolstered it up again by declaring that her make-up was just right and hadn’t she lost weight in the last week or so?
As for the Professor when he arrived to pick her up, his cool eyes travelled over her person without interest.
She got into the Bentley, wondering what he’d done with the Range Rover, and turned to wave at her mother and father and Shylock. She’d be back for a weekend in no time at all; just the same, she felt forlorn at leaving them and to hide it enquired which way they would be going.
‘Cross-country to Cirencester and then up the A435 to Cheltenham, then turn off at Eckington. It’s not far. Do you know the road?’
‘As far as Cheltenham.’
‘We could take the Evesham road, but the other way is prettier.’
And after that they lapsed into silence. Polly, feverishly trying to think of something to talk about, was profoundly thankful that their journey was a fairly short one and in the Bentley no more than a forty-minute drive.
The village of Elmley Castle was a delightful surprise; there was no castle standing, of course, but the village, with its wide main street bordered by a brook along its length, had a wealth of black and white cottages and old-fashioned walled gardens. The Professor went slowly across the square, past the Tudor inn and turned into a narrow walled lane, and then turned again between high brick pillars into the grounds of a fair-sized house—black and white, like its smaller village neighbours, with a tiled roof and small windows, and surrounded by a mass of flower beds, packed with spring flowers.
‘Oh, how very nice,’ exclaimed Polly. ‘Is this your house?’ And when he nodded: ‘And such a delightful garden—there must be hundreds of bulbs…’
‘Hundreds,’ he agreed in a voice which effectively squashed her chatter, and leaned to open her door.
The house door was open and by the time Polly had got out of the car a girl not much older than herself was coming towards them.
Polly hadn’t given much thought to the Professor’s sister. She had supposed her to be his female counterpart—tall, commanding blue eyes which could turn frosty in seconds, and given to looking down a softened version of his highbridged nose. This girl didn’t fit the bill at all. She was no taller than Polly, with curly brown hair and large dark eyes, moreover her nose was short and straight above a smiling mouth. Polly, taken by surprise, had nothing to say other than a polite murmur as they were introduced. ‘Diana,’ said the Professor laconically, ‘this is Polly, who’s doing the typing.’
Polly had her hand taken while Diana said eagerly: ‘I was expecting an elderly terror with false teeth and a flat chest! How super that it’s you. I’ll have someone to talk to.’
‘No, you won’t,’ observed her brother severely. ‘Polly’s here to get that book finished as soon as possible.’
He led the way indoors, but Diana hung back a little. ‘He sounds awful, doesn’t he?’ she wanted to know, ‘but he’s not really. Of course you’ll get time off—you can’t type all day.’
Polly thought that was exactly what she would be doing if the Professor had his way, but she smiled at her companion. ‘At any rate, my teeth are my own,’ she declared cheerfully.
‘And you are by no means flat-chested,’ observed the Professor from the doorway. ‘Come inside, do.’
It was rather dim inside, a good thing since Polly was rather red in the face. She went past the Professor without looking at him and gazed around her. She liked what she saw; a square hall with flagstones underfoot covered with fine rugs, plaster walls above oak panelling, a splendidly carved serpentine table against one wall and facing it a small walnut settee covered with needlework. There were flowers on the table and above it a mirror in a gilded frame with candle branches.
‘Where’s Bessy?’ asked the Professor, leading the way through a solid looking door into a long low-ceilinged room.
‘Bringing tea—we heard you coming. Shall Polly see her room first?’
He shrugged. ‘Just as you like.’ And as a middle-aged woman came into the room with a laden tray: ‘Hullo, Bessy, will you give the keys to Jeff and tell him to take Miss Talbot’s case up to her room?’ He tossed a bunch of keys at her. ‘Thank you.’ And then: ‘Sit down, Polly. This is Bessy, who is our housekeeper and has been for years; I don’t know what we would do without her. Jeff is her husband. Don’t hesitate to ask them for anything you want.’
He sat down in a large winged chair by the log fire and Diana poured their tea. Polly, always ready to think the worst of him, was surprised when he got up and handed the cups round and followed them with the plate of sandwiches. There was nothing, she conceded, wrong with his manners.
The room was lovely. She glanced around her, as casually as she knew how, to admire the comfortable chairs and huge sofas, little piecrust tables and the glass-fronted cabinets against the walls. There were windows at either end; small leaded, and framed by soft velvet curtains, echoing the chair covers in old rose, and a thick white carpet on the floor which would, she considered, be one person’s job to keep clean, especially when there was a scratching at the door and the Professor got up to let in a bull terrier and an Old English Sheepdog, who instantly hurled themselves at him with every sign of delight. He looked at her over their heads.
‘Toby and Mustard,’ he told her. ‘They won’t worry you, and they’re both mild animals.’
Polly gave him an indignant look. ‘I like dogs,’ she told him, ‘and I’m not nervous of them.’
She offered a balled fist for them to inspect and patted them in turn, and Diana said: ‘Oh, good. They roam all over the house, I’m afraid. There are two cats too, do you like them?’
‘Yes. We have three at home, and a dog.’
She might not like the Professor but she had to admit that he was a good host; he kept the conversation going without effort and so kindly that she began to feel quite at home, and presently Diana took her upstairs to her room.
The staircase was at the back of the hall, dividing to either side from a small landing halfway up. Diana took the left-hand wing and went down a narrow passage at its head
. ‘You’re here—nice and quiet. There’s a bathroom next door.’ She flung open a white-painted door and stood aside for Polly to go in. The room was of a comfortable size, furnished prettily in mahogany and chintz, its narrow windows with ruffled muslin curtains. The bathroom leading from it was small but perfect. Polly, eyeing its luxurious fittings said carefully: ‘This is charming—I didn’t think…that is, I expected…’
Diana gave her a wide smile. ‘You’ve no idea how glad I am to have you here. Sam’s away all day most days and it’s a bit lonely. But I’ll be getting married soon…I’m only staying here because Bob, my fiancée, doesn’t like me to be living on my own while he’s away.’
‘I do have to work all day,’ said Polly doubtfully. ‘Professor Gervis wants the book finished just as soon as I can get it typed.’
‘You must be awfully clever. I never got further than “Amo, amas, amat” at school. Sam says your knowledge of the dead languages is extraordinary.’ Diana giggled engagingly. ‘He said it was an awful waste!’
Polly smiled back at her companion. So it was a waste, was it? But a waste he was quite prepared to put to his own use. ‘I’ll unpack, shall I? Then perhaps the Professor will show me where I’m to work and I can get everything ready to start in the morning.’
‘OK. You are keen, aren’t you? Have you got a job? I mean, something else to do besides typing this book?’
Polly shook her head. ‘No, but I think I’ll look for something when I go home again.’
She thought about that while she unpacked. There wasn’t much that she could do. She couldn’t bear the thought of teaching, she didn’t know enough about clothes and fashion to work in a shop, her arithmetic was poor, so an office job or something in a bank was out. She decided not to worry about it for the moment, arranged her few possessions around the room, and went downstairs.
