Polly. Бетти Нилс

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СКАЧАТЬ 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; СКАЧАТЬ