Polly. Бетти Нилс
he said. ‘My car’s outside.’
‘I’ve got my bike.’
He looked at her without expression. ‘You’ll be fetched in the morning,’ was all he said, and he hurried her out into the hall, where she collected her cardigan, said goodnight to a hovering Briggs and went through the door he was holding open for her. It was dark by now, but lights from the windows showed her a Bentley Corniche parked on the sweep. He indicated that she should get into the front seat and got in beside her. They were almost in the village when he asked: ‘Where now?’
‘Across the square, up that lane on the other side. The house is on the left, almost at the top of the hill.’
The gate was never shut. He swept past it on to the gravelled sweep before the house and stopped before the door. Polly had hopped out almost before he’d switched off the engine and gone to open it. But it was opened as she reached it and her father came through it. ‘Polly, my dear—you’re so very late, and how is Sir Ronald?’ He peered past her at Professor Gervis looming out of the dark. ‘Someone has brought you home,’ he said, stating the obvious.
‘Professor Gervis—my father,’ said Polly, very polite, and then: ‘Father, the Professor wants to talk to you. It’s too late now…’
‘Nonsense, child, we’ve only just finished supper. Come in, Professor Gervis, you must meet my wife and then we can discuss whatever it is…’
They were in the dining room, the whole family, sitting round the table with the remains of a macaroni cheese and one of Mrs Talbot’s fruit tarts.
Everyone spoke at once until Mr Talbot said hush and introduced the Professor. ‘You were in church,’ said Mrs Talbot instantly, and then: ‘You’d like some supper? Coffee?’ She put an arm round Polly. ‘You look pinched, darling. Is Sir Ronald very ill?’
‘He died this evening,’ said the Professor quietly. ‘Polly has been most helpful. I should think she needs her supper and a chance to talk.’ He smiled across the table at her, looking quite different; kind and friendly…
‘I’m sorry. We all liked him. I’ll get some coffee at least, while you’re talking. Sit down, Polly, you shall have your supper. Cora, Marian, get a tray ready will you?’
Neither of them needed a second bidding. They rolled expressive eyes at Polly and flew into the kitchen, and a reluctant Ben having been sent to bed, Polly and her mother sat down together. ‘Now tell me all about it,’ demanded Mrs Talbot. ‘We guessed Sir Ronald was very poorly the first time you phoned. Poor man! I’m glad you were able to help.’ She cut a generous slice of tart and put it on Polly’s plate. ‘Why does this Professor want to talk to your father?’
‘Well,’ began Polly, ‘it’s like this…’ She explained carefully and then waited to see what her mother would say.
‘A very sensible idea,’ commented that lady. ‘Professor what’s-his-name seems to know what he’s going to do.’ She added reassuringly, ‘And his sister lives with him. More tart, love? He’s quite youngish, isn’t he? Early thirties, I should think. Easy to get on with?’ Her voice was casual.
‘No,’ said Polly forthrightly. ‘We don’t like each other, but I do see that it’s important to get the book published, and I don’t have to see him often, you know. Just show him each chapter as it’s done, just as I’ve been doing with Sir Ronald.’
‘And where does he live, darling?’
‘I don’t know.’ Polly filled her mouth with tart. ‘It can’t be very far away,’ she said in a crumby voice, ‘because he said on the phone he’d be about an hour, and he was—rather less, I think.’
Her mother started to clear the table. ‘Well, darling, you’ve had a rotten day, now you’re going straight to bed. There’s plenty of hot water and I’ll put a bottle in your bed.’
‘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