Polly

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.

The Professor was standing at the open front door, his hands in his pockets. Even from his back he looked very impatient.

‘I’ll show you where you can work,’ he told Polly without preamble. ‘Jeff has taken everything there and you can start when you like. I shall be out this evening, but you’ll dine with Diana at eight o’clock. Perhaps you’ll keep office hours while you’re here. I’m away for most of the day; but if you’ll put whatever work you’ve done each day on the desk in my study I shall be glad.’

They had gone to the back to the end of the hall and through a small door into a rather bare little room, furnished with a desk and a chair, several filing cabinets and a row of shelves filled with books. There was a typewriter on the desk and the manuscript and paper were arranged beside it. Not a moment to be lost, thought Polly.

‘The household accounts and so on are dealt with here,’ he told her briefly, ‘but no one will disturb you while you’re working.’ He nodded briskly. ‘I shall see you tomorrow evening if not before.’

Polly blinked her preposterous eyelashes at him. ‘You’d like me to start now?’ she asked, so meekly that he turned to look at her.

‘Why not? You’re paid for that, aren’t you?’

The answer to that piece of rudeness scorched her tongue, but she managed not to give it, instead she went to the desk and started to arrange it to her liking. He watched her in silence until she had put paper in the typewriter and sat down to cast an eye over the manuscript. She was typing the first line when he went away.

‘Arrogant idler!’ declared Polly loudly to the closed door, and gave a squeak of dismay as it opened and the Professor put his handsome head round it.

‘I shall be driving down to Wells Court at the weekend,’ he told her, poker-faced. ‘If you can bear with my company, I’ll give you a lift.’

He had gone again before she could say a word, and she started to type. He couldn’t have heard her, or he would have had something to say about it.

She worked without pause until Jeff came to tell her that dinner would be in half an hour, and would she join Miss Diana in the drawing room. ‘And I was to tell you, miss, not to mind and change your dress, because there’ll be no one but yourself and Miss Diana.’

So Polly went to her room and tidied herself, then went downstairs where she found Diana curled up on one of the sofas, surrounded by glossy magazines. She looked up as Polly went in and told her to get herself a drink from the side table, then come and help her choose something to wear. ‘A christening,’ she explained, ‘and Sam and I will have to go; we’re vaguely related to the baby, and Sam’s a great one for family ties and all that kind of thing.’ She handed Polly Harpers & Queen. ‘That grey outfit’s rather nice, isn’t it? I’ll have to have a hat, of course…I don’t want to spend too much…’

A remark which struck Polly dumb, since the outfit concerned was priced around five hundred pounds. Presently she managed a polite: ‘It looks charming, and grey’s a useful colour.’

‘Useful?’ queried Diana, looking surprised. ‘Is it? Anyway, I’ll nip up to town and have a look at it, I think. I haven’t any money, so Sam will have to give me some. I haven’t a rag to my back.’

Polly finished her sherry and ventured: ‘I expect you go out quite a lot.’