Polly. Бетти Нилс

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      ‘You’re not interested in money? It buys pretty clothes and pays for hairdressers and all the other things girls want.’ The faint mockery in his voice annoyed her.

      ‘Of course I like pretty things—even we rustics dress up occasionally. I daresay if I’d been born and brought up in some big city, I’d feel differently about it.’

      ‘Those were your sisters in church?’ he wanted to know idly.

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Very pretty girls, and dressed charmingly.’

      ‘Yes,’ she got up, ‘but as you see they’re, as you say, very pretty girls. It’s time I was back working. Goodbye.’

      He went with her most annoyingly into the house. As he stood aside for her to go through the garden door he said: ‘You know, you intrigue me.’

      ‘I couldn’t care less,’ said Polly.

      She didn’t see him for the rest of that day, nor, for that matter, for the rest of the week. She finished the chapter and started on the next one, completely absorbed in her work, only occasionally bothered by the memory of a dark mocking face.

      It was during a morning halfway through her third week there that the maid suddenly burst into the room looking frightened, ‘Oh, miss—do come! Sir Ronald’s ill—he’s lying on the floor in his study and he don’t speak!’

      ‘Phone Doctor Makepeace and ask him to come at once.’ Polly was already through the door, running across the study to where the old man lay beside his desk.

      A stroke, she supposed, loosening his tie and undoing his waistcoat buttons, putting a cushion behind his head and telling Briggs to see that there was someone to have the door open and usher the doctor in the moment he arrived.

      After that the rest of the day was a horrible kind of dream, with Sir Ronald carried to his bed, a second doctor coming, followed by a nurse and the entire household at sixes and sevens. Polly abandoned her typing, saw that food and drink were produced at the right times, a room made ready for the nurse and messages sent to Sir Ronald’s son and daughter. It was mid-afternoon when the nurse came in search of her.

      ‘Sir Ronald’s rallied a little. He wants to see you. Polly, he said.’

      ‘That’s me. I’ll come.’

      Sir Ronald looked very ill and his rather loud voice had shrunk to a thread of sound. ‘Get Sam,’ he whispered. ‘He’s to come now. Make him understand. Now. In the phone book—my desk.’

      ‘Very well, Sir Ronald.’ Polly’s voice was its usual calm self. ‘I’ll phone now.’

      She dialled the number, having no idea where she was dialling. Not a London number, that she did know. And he answered; she would have known his voice anywhere—deep and assured and, just now, businesslike.

      ‘Professor Gervis, this is Polly Talbot. Sir Ronald told me to phone you. He was taken ill this morning and he wants to see you as soon as possible. Could you come at once?’

      She wasn’t really surprised when he said: ‘I’ll be with you in about an hour,’ and hung up without having asked a single question.

      Polly phoned her home and explained that she would probably be late back, then went away to find the housekeeper and ask her to get a room ready for Professor Gervis. It seemed likely that he would stay the night.

      Doctor Makepeace came again presently, bringing his colleague with him. They spent a long time with their patient and then disappeared into the smaller of the sitting rooms and talked. Polly, watching Briggs taking in a tray of coffee, decided that she would wait in the hall and ask just how ill Sir Ronald was. There was an air of gloom over the whole house, with the servants creeping about with long faces, and Doctor Makepeace, whom she had known since she was a child, had looked very solemn. She was sitting in one of the uncomfortable chairs ranged against the wall facing the sitting room when the front door was opened and Professor Gervis walked in. He hadn’t rung the bell like any other caller would have done and she hadn’t heard his car, although she had been so deep in thought that she might have been deaf to its engine. He wasted no time on the niceties of greeting.

      ‘Tell me what you know,’ he said as soon as his eyes lighted on her. He flung a case and his car coat on to a chair and came to stand in front of her.

      She did so in a quiet voice, giving him facts unembellished by guesses or rumours. He nodded when she had finished. ‘Doctor Makepeace is here now, you say?’

      ‘Yes,’ she nodded to the door opposite. ‘In there with the other doctor who came this morning. I was waiting to see Doctor Makepeace…’

      ‘Shouldn’t you have gone home some time ago?’

      ‘Yes, but how could I? You’re staying the night? I asked the housekeeper to get a room ready for you…’

      ‘Very thoughtful of you.’ He turned abruptly, crossed the hall, tapped on the sitting room door and went inside.

      All three men came out five minutes later, but it was Polly waiting that caused Doctor Makepeace to detach himself from the others and cross the hall to speak to her.

      ‘It’s good of you to stay, Polly. Will you come into the dining room? I believe Briggs is bringing coffee and sandwiches for us. Professor Gervis wants to talk to you.’

      She went with him, wondering why the Professor couldn’t have told her himself, or was he as arrogant as he looked?

      The two men were standing by the fireplace where someone had lighted a log fire against the chill of the evening. They looked at her without speaking, although the other doctor nodded pleasantly when Doctor Makepeace introduced them, adding: ‘Of course, I don’t need to make you known to each other, do I?’

      A remark which called forth an uninterested glance from the Professor.

      She poured the coffee when it came and presently the doctors went away back to their patient. As they left the room the Professor asked: ‘What is your telephone number?’

      She told him and then added: ‘Why do you want to know?’ But he didn’t answer her, only went to the telephone on a side table and dialled the number. She listened with some indignation as he explained who he was and added: ‘I’ll drive Polly back within the hour; there are certain matters to be discussed,’ and then in answer to the voice at the other end, ‘He’s very ill indeed. The doctors are with him now.’

      Polly, for something to do, poured herself another cup of coffee. Not for the world would she let him see that his high-handed treatment irked her severely. She settled her gaze on an elaborate family group framed in gilt and ignored him.

      ‘And now you’ll give me your full attention,’ he commanded, ‘and be good enough not to interrupt until I’ve finished.’

      She gave him a speaking look and took another sip of coffee.

      He had sat down opposite to her so that she had to look at him if she looked anywhere at all. He looked older, she decided, staring rather defiantly at him, and tired, but as ill-humoured СКАЧАТЬ