by Betty Neels
‘No, thanks all the same. I want to get back and keep an eye on the baby.’
He took his coffee and the cake with him to the study and Mrs Selby said, ‘What a very kind man…’ She paused as Flora and Rose came into the room.
‘We heard a car, and it’s too soon for Lucy to be back from choir practice.’ Rose sat down by Philly. ‘Do tell, Philly. It’s not the Twists’ car, is it? The baby…?’
Philly, who had hardly spoken a word, explained, and Katie, who had just come into the kitchen with a pile of school books, exclaimed, ‘Why ever did he bring you back home? He could have put you on a train. Is he sweet on you?’
Rose and Flora rounded on her, but Philly said calmly, ‘No, Katie. He was kind, that’s all, and I expect he feels he’s now repaid Mother and Father for looking after him and Sybil when we had all that snow.’
The Professor, an unwilling listener as he left the study, had to smile at the idea of his being sweet on Philomena!
He left shortly afterwards, scarcely giving Philly time to thank him, brushing her gratitude aside with a friendly smile.
‘You will get Baby Twist better, won’t you?’ she asked him.
‘I shall do my utmost,’ he assured her, as he took his leave.
The Vicar, after escorting him out to his car, came back indoors to observe warmly, ‘Now there goes a man I should like to know better.’
Me, too, thought Philly.
She went the next morning to the Twists’ farm and found Rob cautiously cheerful. He was a stolid young man, a splendid farmer and a hard worker, but he was unused to illness. He told Philly that he had had a phone call from his wife and that the baby was responding to treatment. ‘I’ve got me mum coming today, to keep an eye on the twins and do the cooking. And the doctor’s been to have a look at them. He says they should be all right. They mustn’t play with their friends, though, and they’ve got to stay here on the farm.’
‘Well, I’ll take them for a walk,’ volunteered Philly. ‘We can go picking primroses and violets. Has the Professor phoned you?’
‘Late last night—must have been nigh on midnight—and then this morning at seven o’clock.’
He’d been up all night, thought Philly. He was a big powerfully built man, but all the same he needed his sleep like anyone else. She hoped that he would be able to snatch a few hours of leisure…
The Professor, despite a wakeful night, went about his usual hospital routine. He had gone home briefly, to shower and change, and returned looking as though he had had a good night’s sleep to do his rounds, discuss treatments and talk to anxious parents.
Baby Twist, in a small room away from the other children, was holding his own; it wasn’t for the first time that the Professor marvelled at the capacity of tiny babies to fight illness.
He left the hospital in the late afternoon and found Jolly hovering in the hall, his long face set in disapproving lines.
‘Did you have your lunch?’
The Professor, leafing through his post, said casually, ‘Yes, yes. A sandwich.’
Jolly pursed his lips. ‘And your tea?’
‘Tea? I had a cup with Sister after the clinic.’
‘Dishwater,’ said Jolly with disdain. ‘There’ll be tea in the sitting room in five minutes…’
The Professor said meekly, ‘Yes, Jolly. How well you look after me.’
‘Well, if I don’t who will?’
The Professor didn’t answer. He was very aware that Jolly disliked his future wife, although, old and trusted servant that he was, he would never allow his feelings to show, and his manner to Sybil was always correct. As for Sybil, she seldom noticed Jolly; he was part and parcel of James’ life, a life which she had every intention of changing to suit herself once they were married.
A week went by. March gave way to an April of blue skies and warm sunshine and Baby Twist recovered; a few more days and he would be allowed home.
Mrs Twist had stayed at the hospital. How would she go back home? Sister wanted to know.
‘Well, my car’s still here, but I’m a bit scared to drive home without someone with me…’
Sister mentioned it to the Professor. ‘She’s a sensible young woman, but nervous of being alone with the baby—it’s quite a long drive.’
‘Perhaps she could contact the friend who came in with her?’
‘Yes, of course. I’ll see what she says. Had you a discharge date in mind, sir?’
‘Four or five days’ time—Wednesday. The baby will have to come back for a check-up. See to that, will you?’
It would be pleasant to see Philomena again. He hadn’t forgotten her; indeed he thought about her rather more often than his peace of mind allowed. Her ordinary face and lovely brown eyes had a habit of imposing themselves upon his thoughts at the most awkward times: when he was dining with Sybil, listening to her light-hearted talk—gossip, tales of her friends, the new clothes she had bought—and dining with friends, listening to Sybil’s high clear voice once more, her laughter…He avoided as many social occasions as he could, which was something she was always quick to quarrel about.
‘And don’t suppose that you can expect me to stay home night after night waiting for you to come home from the hospital or out of your study.’ Then, seeing his frown she had added, ‘Oh, darling James, how horrid I am. You know I don’t mean a word of it.’ And she had been all charm and smiles again.
On his way home from the hospital he made a note to himself to see Philly when she came to collect Mrs Twist and the baby.
Wednesday came, and with it Philly, very neat and tidy in a short jacket a little too big for her, since it was one of Lucy’s, and last year’s tweed skirt. But her shoulder bag was leather and her shoes were beautifully polished. The Professor saw all this as he watched her coming along the wide corridor to the ward. He saw her cheerful face too, damping down a strong feeling that he wanted to go and meet her and wrap his arms around her and tell her how beautiful she was.
‘I must be mad,’ said Professor Forsyth aloud, and when she reached the cot he greeted her with chilly politeness so that her wide smile trembled uncertainly and disappeared.
There was no reason to linger. Mrs Twist had her instructions and advice from Sister and an appointment to see the Professor in a few weeks’ time.
The Professor shook Mrs Twist’s hand and told her in a kind and reassuring voice that her baby had made a complete recovery. He stood patiently listening to her thanks before asking Sister to see them safely into the car and walking away. He gave Philly a cool nod as he went.
Sitting in the back with the baby as Mrs Twist drove back to Nether Ditchling, Philly wondered what she had done to make him look at her like that. She hadn’t forgotten the strange feeling she had had when they had first met, but she didn’t allow herself to think about it. She had been sure that he had felt the same, but perhaps she had been mistaken. And a good thing too, she told herself. She and Professor Forsyth lived in separate worlds.
In due course Baby Twist went back to London to be examined. Sloane, who had his surgery at Wisbury, was satisfied as to his progress, but the check-up was still advisable.
This time Mrs Twist took her mother, who was staying with them, on the journey to the hospital. Philly had hoped that she would be asked to go again. Even if she didn’t speak to him, it would have been nice just to see the Professor again…
Professor Forsyth, giving last-minute instructions to Mrs Twist, firmly suppressed his disappointment at not seeing Philly. He really must forget the girl, he told himself, and dismissed her from his thoughts—although she persisted in staying at the back of his mind, to pop up whenever he had an unguarded moment.
He must see more of Sybil. He took time off which he could ill spare to take her out to dine and dance, to see the latest plays and visit friends and found that nothing helped. Sybil was becoming very demanding: expecting him to spend more and more of his leisure with her, scorning his protests that he had his own friends, lectures to write, re
ading to do…
Jolly, disturbed by the Professor’s withdrawn manner, gave it as his opinion that he should go to his cottage. ‘You’ve got a bit of free time,’ he pointed out. ‘Go and see Mrs Willett. She’s always complaining that she doesn’t see enough of you. And that George will be pining for you too.’
The Professor went home on Friday evening with the pleasant knowledge that he had two days of peace and quiet to look forward to. Sybil had said that she would be away for the weekend and he planned to leave early on Saturday morning. He ate a splendid dinner and went to his study; there was plenty of work for him on his desk.
He hadn’t been there more than ten minutes when the phone rang.
It was Sybil’s querulous voice. ‘The Quinns phoned. That wretched child of theirs has got chicken pox—they told me not to worry, as she’s in the nursery anyway, but I’m not risking catching it. So I’m here at a loose end, darling. Take me out to dinner tomorrow evening and let’s spend the day together first. Come for me around midday. We can go to that place at Bray for lunch and drive around. And on Sunday you could drive me up to Bedford. We can spend the day with Aunt Bess. It will be a dull day, but she’s leaving me the house when she dies and we shall need somewhere in the country as well as your place here.’
‘I have a cottage in Berkshire, Sybil…’
She gave a little crow of laughter. ‘Darling! That poky little place! There would barely be room for the two of us, let alone guests.’
The Professor pondered a reply but decided not to say anything. Instead he said, ‘I’m sorry about your weekend, Sybil. I’m going out of town early tomorrow morning and I shan’t be back until Monday. A long-standing invitation.’ Which was true. Mrs Willett, his one-time nanny and housekeeper at the cottage, reminded him almost weekly that it was time he spent a few days at the cottage.
‘Put them off,’ said Sybil.
‘Impossible. As I said, it’s a long-standing arrangement.’
She hung up on him.
He left early the next morning, taking the M4 until he had passed Reading, then turning into a side road running north to the Oxfordshire border. The villages were small and infrequent, remote from the railway, each one with its church, main street and a handful of small houses and cottages. And each with its manor-house standing importantly apart.
The country was looking beautiful in the bright morning sun and the Professor slowed his pace the better to enjoy it. He didn’t come often enough, he reflected. But Sybil didn’t like the cottage and the quiet countryside, and she didn’t like Mrs Willett who, for that matter, didn’t like her either.
The cottage was on the edge of a village lying between two low tree-clad hills, round the bend of the road so that the sudden sight of it was a pleasure to the eye. Beyond a narrow winding street bordered by other cottages stood his own: redbrick and thatch, with an outsize door and small-paned windows. It stood sideways onto the road, with a fair-sized garden, and beyond it were fields and, beyond them, the wooded hill.
He drove round the side of the cottage to a barn at the end of the track, its doors open ready to receive him, and parked the car and went into the cottage through the open kitchen door.
The kitchen was small, with a tiled floor, a small bright red Aga and shelves along its walls. There was a table in the centre, with a set of ladder-backed chairs round it. There were bright checked curtains at the window and a kettle was singing on the stove.
The Professor went through the door into the narrow hall, threw his jacket and bag down on one of the two chairs and hugged his housekeeper, puffing a little from her hasty descent of the narrow stairs.
‘There you are, Master James, and about time too!’ She eyed him narrowly. ‘You look as though you could do with a few days here. Working too hard, I’ll be bound.’
‘It’s good to be here,’ he told her. ‘I’ll stay until early Monday morning. Where’s George?’
‘Gone to fetch the eggs from Greggs’ farm with Benny.’ Benny was the boy who walked George each day, since Mrs Willett was past the age of a brisk walk with a lively dog.
‘I’ll go and meet them while you get the coffee.’ He grinned at her. ‘We’ll have a good gossip.’
‘Go on with you, Master James! But I dare say you’ll have plenty to tell me.’ She gave him a questioning look. ‘Fixed a date for the wedding yet?’
His soft, ‘Not yet, Nanny,’ left her with a feeling of disquiet.
Later, with George the Labrador pressed up against him, the Professor gave Mrs Willett a succinct enough account of his days. ‘Rather dull, as you can see,’ he told her. ‘Except for that weekend at the Vicarage.’
She had watched his face when he told her about it, and had been quick to see the small smile when he’d told her about Philly.
‘A real country girl,’ she had observed mildly.
‘You would like her, Nanny.’
‘Then it is to be hoped that I’ll meet her one day,’ said Nanny.
CHAPTER THREE
AT DAYBREAK on Monday morning the Professor, with George at his heels, let himself out of the cottage, opened the little gate at the bottom of his back garden and started to climb the gentle hill beyond. Halfway up it he stopped and turned to look behind him. It was a bright morning and the sun was going to show at any moment. The cottage sat snugly in its garden and the white curtains at his bedroom window waved gently to and fro in the light breeze. A little haven, he reflected, and one to which he should come far more frequently. But Sybil had been adamant about not going there, always coaxing him to stay in town when he had a free weekend—‘For I see so little of you,’ she had said, beguiling him with one of her charming smiles.
The Professor turned to continue his walk. There was a tractor starting up some way off, a herd of cows leaving the milking shed from the farm across the fields, everywhere birds, rabbits in the hedges and, sneaking across the field ahead of him, a fox. He wanted to share it all with someone—with Philly, for this was her kind of world.
‘I don’t even know the girl!’ said the Professor testily, and resumed his walk.
He drove himself back to London after breakfast, thinking of the busy day ahead of him, and the days after that, and at the weekend he and Sybil were going to Coralie’s wedding at Netherby. Perhaps on the way back he could persuade her to go to the cottage for an hour or two…
But Sybil was adamant about that, too; she had bought a new outfit for the wedding and she had no intention of ruining it by paying a visit to the cottage with a chance of tearing it on hedges or having George’s dirty paws all over it. ‘And it was wickedly expensive, darling. I want to be a credit to you, and I’ve gone to a great deal of trouble.’
So on Saturday morning the Professor, elegant in morning dress and top hat, bade Jolly goodbye and drove to collect Sybil—who wasn’t ready.
The butler, a sympathetic man, ushered him into a small room and offered coffee, assuring him that Miss Sybil would be down directly. And half an hour later she did indeed come downstairs. She stood in the doorway, waiting for the Professor’s admiration. Her dress was white, with a vivid green pattern calculated to catch the eye, but it was her hat which kept him momentarily silent.
Of bright green straw, it had an enormous brim and the crown was smothered in flowers of every colour.
‘Well?’ said Sybil. ‘I told you the outfit was gorgeous, didn’t I? It’s charming, isn’t it?’
The Professor found his voice. ‘All eyes will be upon you.’
She smiled happily. ‘That is my intention, James darling.’
‘I thought the bride was the principal attraction on her wedding day.’
‘There’s nothing like a little healthy competition, darling.’
They drove for the most part in silence: the Professor deep in thought, Sybil contemplating the pleasures ahead of them. They must get seats in the church where she would be easily seen, and stand well to the front when the photos were taken…
Approachi
ng Nether Ditchling, the Professor slowed the car; there was the chance that he might see Philly. And the chance was his; there she was, standing outside the village shop. No hat on her head, but wearing what he suspected was her best dress: blue, simply cut, and off the peg.
He pulled the car across the road and stopped beside her. He rolled the window down. ‘Hello, Philomena. Are you going to the wedding too?’
Philly beamed at him; thinking about him was one thing, to see him was an added bonus. ‘Hello.’ She looked past him to Sybil, and her eyes widened at the sight of the hat. She met the Professor’s gaze and it was as though they shared the same thought. Philly looked away from him and wished Sybil good morning.
‘Oh hello, nice to see you again. We’re in rather a hurry…’
‘Are you going to the wedding?’ asked the Professor again.
‘Well, yes, but not really to the wedding. I promised Coralie that I’d look after her sister’s small children. There are four of them, much too small to go to the church and the reception.’
‘In that case we’ll give you a lift.’ The Professor got out of the car and opened the door.
Philly held back. ‘I was going to get a lift from the postman; he’ll be along any minute now…’
‘Leave him a message,’ said the Professor easily, and did it for her, charming Mrs Salter standing at the open shop door, listening to every word.
She nodded and smiled. ‘You go, Miss Philly. Not often you get the chance to travel so grand. I’ll tell Postie.’
The Professor made small talk during the brief journey to Netherby and Philly said, ‘Yes’ and ‘No’ and ‘how nice,’ and admired the back of his head, and then turned her attention to Sybil’s hat. Wedding hats, she knew, were always outrageous, but Sybil’s took one’s breath…
‘Go straight to the church,’ said Sybil. ‘We want decent seats…’
The Professor said mildly, ‘We are in plenty of time, my dear. I’ll drop Philly off at the house on the way to church.’
‘There’s no need. It’s only a short walk…’
He disregarded that. ‘How will you get back?’ he asked Philly.