by Betty Neels
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.’
‘Oh, lord, yes. It gets boring, some of the dinner parties are so stuffy, and Deirdre—that’s Sam’s fianceé—has the most tiresome parents. She’s tiresome too. I can’t think how Sam can put up with her.’
‘He doesn’t have to,’ observed Polly, ‘but I expect if he loves her he doesn’t notice.’
‘Of course he doesn’t love her—they sort of slid into it, if you know what I mean, and I suppose he thinks she’ll change when they are married. She’s very suitable, of course, and they make a handsome pair.’ Diana bounced off the sofa. ‘Let’s have dinner—I’m starving!’
Polly, accustomed to cottage pie and fruit tart eaten in the bosom of her rather noisy family, thought dinner was quite something. The dining room for a start was a dignified apartment, with a large oval table in its centre, straight-backed chairs with tapestry seats, and a vast sideboard. The meal itself, served on white damask with quantities of silver and cut glass, was mouthwatering, far better than the birthday dinners each member of the family enjoyed at one of the hotels in Pulchester. And since Diana had a good appetite, Polly, who was hungry, enjoyed every mouthful of it.
They went back to the drawing-room afterwards to have their coffee, and Diana plunged into the serious matter of clothes once more, until Polly said regretfully: ‘The Professor wants the work I’ve done to be put on his desk each evening; I’d better do that, if you’d tell me which room…?’
‘Just across the hall, the middle door. Do you really have to go? I’ll see you at breakfast, then. Let Bessy know if you want anything.’ Diana beamed at Polly. ‘Goodnight—it is nice having company, you know.’
Polly said goodnight and then remembered to ask at what time she should come down to breakfast. ‘Or do I have it somewhere else?’
‘Whatever for? Oh, I see, you start work early, I suppose. I don’t get down before nine o’clock. Could you start work and have it with me then? What time do you want to get up? I’ll tell someone to call you.’
Polly said half past seven; that would give her time to dress at leisure and perhaps go into the garden for ten minutes before putting in almost an hour’s work. ‘I said that I’d work office hours’, she explained, ‘that’s eight hours a day. Professor Gervis is very anxious for the book to be finished.’
‘Well, don’t let him browbeat you. It sounds like slavery to me.’
A very luxurious slavery, thought Polly, getting ready for bed, turning on the shaded lights, sinking her bare feet in the thick pile of the carpet. There were even books on the bedside table. She inspected them eagerly; a catholic selection to suit all tastes. She pottered happily into the bathroom and lay in a haze of steam, wondering what it would be like to live in such a house and eat a dinner like she had just had every night of the week. Probably very boring. No, not boring, she amended; if the Professor was around life would never be boring. She turned on the hot water tap again and began to think about his fianceé. Diana didn’t like her, but Diana was a good deal younger than the Professor and their tastes might not match. Probably she was exactly right for him and would know just how to run a house such as this one, wear all the right clothes and make intelligent conversation about his work when he got home. As to what he did exactly, Polly was vague and uncaring. Something to do with publishing, she supposed; she pictured him in a plushy office, sitting behind a vast desk, pressing little buttons and summoning people. And that reminded her that she hadn’t taken her work to the study downstairs. In a panic she got out to dry herself on an enormous fluffy towel which she had no time to admire, got into her nightgown and dressing gown and went back downstairs. The drawing room door was shut, and there was no sound anywhere. She crossed the hall to her little workroom, collected up the sheets and went back into the hall. The middle door, Diana had said. Polly opened it carefully and shot inside.
The Professor was sitting at his desk, writing. ‘Oh, lord,’ said Polly, ‘I didn’t know you were here.’
‘So I should imagine.’ He had got to his feet and was looking her up and down, a smile just lifting the corners of his firm mouth. She didn’t much like the smile; she must look a fright, scarlet from too hot a bath, hair hanging around her face in a damp tangle, her dressing gown, a bulky garment of candlewick, flung on anyhow and tied bunchily around her small waist.
‘I forgot,’ said Polly, ‘you said you wanted to see what I’d done each morning, and if I’d waited till then I might have disturbed you.’
‘And what are you doing now?’ he enquired blandly.
‘Ah, but I didn’t know you were here.’ She thumped the neatly typed sheets down on the desk, and quite forgetting to say goodnight, nipped smartly through the door and raced back to her room
. Not a very good beginning, she admonished her reflection as she brushed her hair.
She was called by a cheerful maid carrying a tray of tea and a little plate of biscuits, and since she would have to wait for her breakfast, she made no bones about draining the teapot and finishing off the biscuits. She had slept dreamlessly, and since the sun was shining she got out of bed to take a look at the day. It was going to be a lovely May morning; just for a moment she longed to be at home, free to go out into the garden before helping to get breakfast. But there was no reason why she shouldn’t go outside now if she dressed quickly. She was ready in fifteen minutes, very neat in her blouse and skirt, her hair silky smooth, her face made up in a limited fashion. Surely no one would grudge her ten minutes in the garden?
She went softly through the house and found the front door open, although there was no one to see, and after a moment’s hesitation she turned along the path running round the side of the house. It led to a broad expanse of lawn, circumvented by another path and bordered by flower beds. She went all round and then took another path leading invitingly into a shrubbery. She was nicely into it when she heard dogs barking and a moment later the Professor’s voice. She had forgotten Toby and Mustard—having a morning stroll with their master, she supposed. Guiltily she popped back the way she had come and peered round her. The Professor was some way off walking away from her, the dogs bounding ahead of him. It took only a minute to hurry back to the house and in through its door. A moment later she was seated at her desk, putting the first sheet of paper into the typewriter. She had no need to feel guilty, she told herself crossly; she was quite entitled to a breath of air… She was halfway down the page when she heard sounds, muffled by the thickness of the doors, which suggested that both the Professor and his dogs were back indoors, and a few minutes later she heard a car drive up to the house and after the briefest of pauses drive away again. The Professor had gone to wherever he went each day. ‘And good luck to him,’ said Polly loudly, still cross.
She worked steadily until she heard the stable clock strike the hour, and not before time, for she was famished and longing for her breakfast. She found Diana already at the table, reading her letters, but she put them aside as soon as she saw Polly.
‘Good morning, Polly. I suppose you’ve been up for hours—you and Sam should get on well together—early risers and gluttons for work! Come and sit down. There’s porridge, or grapefruit and egg and bacon, or Bessy’ll do you some kippers if you’d rather…’
Polly settled happily for porridge and bacon and egg and listened cheerfully to her companion’s plans for the day. ‘Such a pity you have to work,’ she declared, ‘otherwise you could have come with me to Evesham, but I’ll be back for lunch.’ She pouted prettily. ‘I’ve got to go out this evening, though; Sam says I must. Deirdre’s parents are giving a dinner party.’ She poured herself another cup of coffee. ‘When he marries her I’ve made up my mind I’ll leave here, even if Bob isn’t back.’
‘Will he be away for long?’ asked Polly, which was another way of finding out when the Professor was going to get married.
‘Well, he thought three months, but there’s always the chance that it’ll be sooner than that, and Deirdre’s got some stupid idea about being married on Midsummer’s Day, although nothing is settled yet. I can’t think what Sam sees in her.’
‘Well,’ began Polly, ‘he must see something in her or he wouldn’t want to get married…’
‘Knowing Deirdre, I wouldn’t be surprised if she hadn’t settled the whole thing without him realising, although he did say she would be very suitable.’ She grinned suddenly. ‘I’m not at all suitable for Bob, but that really doesn’t make any difference, you know.’
Polly didn’t know, but she nodded in an understanding sort of way and said regretfully that she would have to go back to her desk.
She worked for the rest of the morning, had lunch with Diana and then went back again to her typewriter. If she kept at it for the rest of the day, she decided, she would be able to put the rest of the chapter on the Professor’s desk before she went to bed. She might even get the next one started, since she would have the house to herself that evening.
Diana came looking for her around teatime. ‘You really must stop,’ she declared. ‘You’ve been working all day…come and have tea.’
Polly went willingly enough; she was an active girl and she longed to take a long walk outside while the sun was still shining. ‘Well, that’s why I’m here,’ she explained reasonably. ‘Professor Gervis wants the book done just as quickly as possible.’
She allowed herself half an hour and despite Diana’s grumbles went back once more to the typewriter. There was still a good bit to do and she was having at present to stop and look things up quite frequently; all the same, she had every intention of finishing the chapter before she went to bed. Deep in a learned comparison between Roman and Greek gods and goddesses, she didn’t hear the door open and Diana come in. At the girl’s gentle: ‘Hullo, how do I look?’ she glanced up, and instantly forgot these beings in an admiring contemplation of Diana, dressed for the evening. She really was a very pretty girl, and the softly pleated gauzy skirt and tiny beaded bodice merely served to make her doubly so.
‘Oh, very nice,’ said Polly, and meant it. ‘You look a dream. Do you always dress up when you go out in the evening?’
Diana looked surprised. ‘Well, yes—especially when Deirdre’s going to be there—she thinks she’s high fashion personified, you know, so I simply have to outdo her.’ She added unnecessarily: ‘You like it?’
‘It’s so beautiful I can’t think of a word for it!’
‘Don’t you like clothes?’
Polly nodded. ‘Oh, yes, but you see I’m at home all day, mostly, and I don’t need anything like that. I have one evening dress,’ she added.
Diana blinked. ‘Did you bring it with you?’
She thought for a minute. ‘I’ve got it with me, yes. I wasn’t going to pack it, but my sisters put it in.’ She added simply: ‘You see, I didn’t expect to have my meals with you and the Professor.’
‘Why ever not?’ Diana looked as though she would have liked to have pursued the subject, but a glance at the clock on the austere mantelshelf stopped her. ‘Look at the time— Sam’ll be shouting for me! Bessy will tell you when dinner’s ready—there’s a good film on TV if you want to watch it afterwards. In the little room at the back of the hall. Sam won’t have it in the drawing room.’ She whizzed to the door. ‘See you at breakfast.’
Polly wasted a few minutes wishing she were in Diana’s shoes—and her dress, for that matter—and then went back to the gods and goddesses. She had to concentrate on them so that she barely noticed the faint sounds in the hall or the sound of a car being driven off. She was on the last page when Bessy came in to warn her that dinner would be in ten minutes and the drinks tray was in the drawing room if she would like something first.
At home they drank sherry on birthdays and at Christmas and when there were guests for dinner. Polly went to her room, did her face and brushed her soft cloud of hair, then went back to sip her drink in the grandeur of the drawing room and then to eat her solitary dinner. It was a splendid meal—soup and fried whitebait and lamb chops arranged artistically around a mound of creamed potato and asparagus to go with them. Polly drank the wine Jeff poured for her and finished off with little pancakes, smothered in cream. Tomorrow, she promised herself, she would go for a good walk or she would get fat. She drank her coffee at the table, wished Jeff goodnight and then went back to her work.
It was striking half past nine when she typed the last few words, and she yawned hugely. She hadn’t finished, though—first she had to read the whole thing through to check for mistakes; she didn’t think she’d made any, but if she had, she was sure the Professor’s eagle eye would light on them. It took more than an hour, and she yawned again as she shuffled the sheets tidily together, clipped them and took them to the study. Too late to start the
next chapter, she decided, but she would put everything ready so she could make an early start in the morning. She went out of the study and closed the door at the same time as the front door was opened, and Diana, the Professor and another girl came in.
Polly finished closing the door, noticing that the Professor was frowning. In a temper again, she supposed, and wished them good evening in a soothing voice.
‘Why aren’t you in bed?’ demanded Professor Gervis.
‘I wanted to finish the chapter. It’s on your desk, Professor Gervis.’ She smiled at Diana, who grinned back at her, and took a look at the other girl. Deirdre, without a doubt. Tall and dark and willowy—no, skinny, with a horsy face and beautifully arranged hair. Wearing a dress which Polly thought did nothing for her; girls with flat chests and bony arms shouldn’t wear slinky sheaths, however elegant they were.
It was Diana who spoke. ‘Hullo, Polly, still nose to the grindstone? I hope you took time off for dinner?’
‘Oh, yes, thanks. Well, I’ll go to bed. Goodnight.’ She included all three of them in a wide smile and turned to go.
‘Er—just a moment, Polly. This is Deirdre Gordon, my fiancée. Deirdre, Polly Talbot is typing the book Sir Ronald had just completed.’
Deirdre gave her a cold look. ‘Hullo. How boring for you.’
‘Not a bit of it,’ said Polly cheerfully. ‘I’m rather enjoying it.’
Deirdre glanced around at her surroundings. ‘I expect all this makes a change.’ Her rather precise voice held a sneer.
‘Well,’ said Polly slowly and with great sweetness, ‘it’s like working in an office, you know, and they’re all alike wherever you are. Goodnight.’
She crossed the hall unhurriedly and went upstairs, her head erect, very aware of her workaday skirt and blouse and her untidy head.
In her room she kicked off her shoes and went to run a bath. ‘He deserves every inch of her,’ she told her reflection, noting with regret that her hair was even worse than she had imagined and her nose shone.