Polly

‘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 as usual. He stared back at her for a long moment.

‘Sir Ronald is dying, you must know that. He’ll not live the night through. He was quite lucid when I spoke to him just now, and I have given my word that his book shall be published on the date he intended and that you will continue to get it ready for the publishers. That means that you will continue to come here until the funeral, and after that the only possible solution is for you to return with me to my house and complete your work there.’ And as she opened her mouth to make a strong protest: ‘I asked you not to interrupt. I’ve had a lot to do with his book and you’ll need guidance and someone to check your work. I think that whatever our personal feelings are, we should ignore them and do him this service. It has been years of work and research, and I for one don’t intend them to be wasted.’ He added with a faint sneer: ‘My sister lives with me, which will, I imagine, settle any qualms a girl such as you is bound to have.’

He sat back, one long leg crossed over the other, entirely at his ease. Waiting for her to say yes, thought Polly.

‘I’ll think about it and let you know tomorrow morning.’ Her voice was pleasant enough, but it had an icy edge to it.

‘Now,’ the Professor’s voice was very quiet; it was also compelling. She looked down at her hands, resting quietly in her lap and tried to marshal a few sensible arguments against his wishes. Before she had time to think of a single one the door opened and Doctor Makepeace came in.

‘Sam, will you come?’ They left the room together, leaving her alone with her thoughts. If Sir Ronald died she would have to accept the Professor’s suggestions. The old man had been kind to her after his fashion and she knew without being told that his book had been his greatest interest. She sat quietly, and presently the Professor and both doctors came in together.

‘Sir Ronald died a few minutes ago, Polly,’ Doctor Makepeace told her kindly. ‘A peaceful end, I’m glad to say; a pity he won’t see his book published, but I understand that you and Sam are going to carry out his plans. I’ll give you a lift home, child.’

‘I’ll take her back,’ said the Professor. ‘I’ll have to explain how matters stand to Mr Talbot. It’s rather late now, but I daresay we can arrange a meeting tomorrow.’

Doctor Makepeace bustled to the door. ‘Good, I’ve still got a couple of calls to make and I know that Doctor West here wants to get back as soon as possible. You’ve got the certificates, haven’t you, Sam? I’ll see you in the morning. When will his son and daughter get here?’

‘Tomorrow, I should suppose. Goodnight, and thanks.’

The men shook hands and Doctor Makepeace said: ‘He was a good friend to me…’

‘And to me,’ said the Professor, and just for a moment Polly considered that he looked quite human.

‘We’ll go now,’ 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…’

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