Polly. Бетти Нилс

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 shook 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, СКАЧАТЬ