Polly Page 7

  The door opened on to a kind of waiting room, rather bleak and smelling very faintly of hospitals. There were three other girls there. Polly wished them good morning and received muttered replies, so she sat down composedly and waited. The three girls went in, one after the other, and finally it was her turn. The woman behind the desk was quite young, pleasant and good-looking. Polly, who had always imagined hospital Matrons to be elderly, sharp-featured and critical, changed her ideas at once.

  ‘Why do you want to nurse?’ she was asked.

  ‘I’d like to do something useful.’

  ‘I see you’re something of a scholar. You have excellent A-levels.’

  ‘No one wants Latin and Greek,’ Polly explained. ‘I’m typing a book now—it’s almost finished—for a scholar. He died a few weeks ago, but I don’t suppose there’ll be another one for years.’

  Her companion looked at her thoughtfully. ‘Probably not. You like children?’

  ‘Oh, yes. I haven’t done any nursing, though.’

  ‘It’s very hard work. Can you give me two references, Miss Talbot?’

  Not the Professor, thought Polly rapidly. The Reverend Mr Mortimer and Doctor Makepeace would do nicely. She gave names and addresses and was told that provided her references were satisfactory she might start her training in two weeks’ time. ‘Instructions will be sent to you before then, and you will have to have a medical examination. There’s a three months’ probationary period, and if you wish to leave before then, you will be free to do so.’

  Polly, waiting for her father outside New Street Station, had a great deal to think about. She would have to work flat out in order to get finished in a week; that would give her a week at home. Of course, she could work over the next weekend and leave in the early part of the week. She went to the station buffet and had a cup of coffee and did little sums all over the back of an empty envelope. She had quite a lot of money and she would get a salary at the end of the month. All of a sudden she felt gloriously independent.

  There was a great deal of talk at home too once she got there. Her parents were pleased, although her mother looked despondent too. ‘You won’t be seeing that nice Professor again, I suppose,’ she said hopefully.

  ‘Well, no, Mother. Why should I? I’ll have finished in a week’s time, and it was only a temporary job.’ She spoke casually, her mind on other things. ‘I don’t suppose I’ll come home every week,’ she reflected. ‘We get two days off, but I’ll have to get to know Birmingham and do shopping and things like that. You could come and see me…’

  ‘Yes, love, but you’ll make friends, you know. We’re going to miss you.’ Her mother sighed soundlessly. ‘I’d hoped that Professor Gervis might have found you a job—I mean, if he’s in the publishing business he must know lots of people.’

  ‘I daresay he does. But why should he, Mother? It was just convenient that I should finish the book. I daresay he knows dozens of people who could have done it far better than I have.’

  Her father drove her back on Sunday evening, and this time, because there were lights streaming from the drawing room windows and the sound of voices, he drove off at once, leaving Polly to ring the bell and when Jeff opened the door, go inside. It was an awkward time to return; she had had a good tea at home, but now it was half past eight and there were obviously guests in the house. It looked as though she might get nothing to eat. And she was suddenly famished.

  ‘There’s folk for dinner, miss,’ offered Jeff. ‘Shall I bring you a tray of something presently?’

  ‘Oh, Jeff would you? I’ll come down to my work room, shall I? Sandwiches would do…’

  ‘If you’ll come to the small sitting room in ten minutes or so, there’ll be something for you there.’

  Polly skipped upstairs. There was quite a volume of sound coming from the drawing room; the Professor was entertaining on a large scale. She unpacked her bag, tidied herself and went obediently to the small sitting room. Not small at all, in actual fact, only compared with the drawing room.

  There was a small round table near the window and on it Jeff had arranged a cloth, plates and cutlery. Without comment he served her with soup, lobster patties, roast lamb and one of Bessy’s mouthwatering trifles. Halfway through her meal, watching Jeff arrange the new potatoes beside the lamb, Polly asked: ‘Jeff, is it really all right for me to be here? I mean, you must have heaps to do with the guests.’

  He gave her a fatherly look. ‘They’ve already dined, miss. Professor Gervis said that if you were to return too late to have dinner with everyone else you were to be served here.’

  Polly blinked. ‘Did he? How—how thoughtful of him, and thank you, Jeff. I hope I haven’t given you and Bessy extra work.’

  ‘Not at all, miss. I’ll bring coffee here, shall I?’

  ‘Please, then I’ll go upstairs.’

  She was refilling her coffee cup when the Professor came in.

  ‘I heard you come back,’ he observed. ‘I had hoped you would be here in time for dinner with the rest of us. Still, never mind, you must come and have a drink now.’

  ‘Oh, my goodness, no!’ declared Polly, and at his look added apologetically: ‘I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just that I’m not dressed for parties, and I—I shan’t know anyone there.’

  ‘Me? Diana? Deirdre too.’ He smiled suddenly: ‘No, I can see you would rather not join us.’ To her surprise he sat down opposite her at the table. ‘Have you had a pleasant weekend?’

  She was unaware of the guilty look on her face. She said hurriedly: ‘Oh, yes, thank you. I…we…it’s always lovely to go home.’

  He was studying her telltale face with half closed eyes. ‘And you will be finished by next weekend?’ he wanted to know blandly.

  ‘Yes, oh yes—at least, if you wouldn’t mind, just to be on the safe side, would it bother you if I stayed until Sunday—that would give me all Saturday to make a final check. The last chapter’s very short and the glossary won’t have any words in it that I haven’t already come across.’

  ‘You’ve found it interesting work?’

  ‘Yes, very.’

  ‘And you’ve been reasonably happy here?’

  ‘Oh, yes, indeed I have.’

  ‘Very little to do, I’m afraid. The occasional cycle ride to Mrs Prosser’s shop, perhaps?’

  Polly went pink. Surely he didn’t know about her looking at the Nursing Times? He couldn’t possibly. She had no way of finding out and it didn’t matter anyway. All the same, she squirmed when he went on pleasantly: ‘Have you a job in view, Polly?’

  ‘Yes—no, that is, in a way, yes.’

  He got up at last. ‘For a Greek scholar you’re singularly muddled in your speech this evening. Perhaps you’re over-tired—why not have a few days off and postpone the rest of the typing for a little while. Another week won’t make all that difference.’

  ‘Oh, but it will,’ cried Polly: she didn’t imagine one could write to the hospital authorities and say that one would be a few days late because it wasn’t convenient to arrive when told to do so. She was aware of his raised eyebrows and added hastily: ‘I mean, it’s so much easier to keep on once I’ve got started if you know what I mean.’

  He didn’t answer that, only smiled again, wished her goodnight and wandered to the door. ‘We shall all miss you here,’ he told her. ‘Goodnight.’

  She worked hard for the next few days and since there was no sign of the Professor, she put the last chapter on his desk and began to type the glossary—a slow, careful job which kept her busy from early morning until late in the evening, although she was careful to have her meals with Diana and allow her to have the impression that she was enjoying a certain amount of leisure too. Once or twice, while she had been working, she heard Deirdre’s voice in the house, and once the Professor’s deeper tones, but he didn’t come near her and it wasn’t until Friday evening that she saw him again.

  She was in the garden with the dogs, throwing them an old tennis ball and racing
round like a little girl when she was brought up short by his: ‘Good evening, Polly.’

  The dogs rushed at him and he stooped to pat them, looking over their heads at her. ‘I’m glad to see you’re enjoying yourself. I take it the book is almost finished?’

  She was still bewildered at the pleasure she felt at seeing him again. ‘Yes, very nearly. You’ve been away, I expect you’re glad to be home again.’

  He was still staring at her. ‘Yes, very glad, although I daresay I’ll change my mind about that presently. I have to go out to dinner this evening and I would so much rather be here.’

  She stood awkwardly, wishing to go and yet surprised to find that she was enjoying his company.

  ‘I’ll drive you home on Sunday,’ he told her. ‘I should like a word with your father and I have to go to Wells Court.’ And at her uncertain look: ‘I really do have to go, so you might just as well have a lift. I’d like to leave about eight o’clock. Will that suit you?’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’ She turned on her heel and he turned with her.

  ‘I must go back, I suppose.’ He walked with her to the side door and opened it. ‘Goodnight, Polly.’

  She murmured goodnight and slid past him, to go up to her room, where she sat down on her bed, puzzled as to why she should feel sad at the idea of leaving the Professor’s house, when it had been her one aim to get away from it as soon as possible.

  She finished the last page on Saturday evening, having worked doggedly throughout the day. The Professor had driven away quite early in the morning and she hadn’t seen him since, and after breakfast Diana had gone off to play tennis with friends. She had been apologetic about it. ‘It seems a bit mean on your last day, Polly, and I can’t think why Sam had to go thundering off so early, but I’ll be back after lunch and we’re both home for dinner this evening—your last evening…’

  Polly paused, buttering toast. ‘I hope that isn’t because of me,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘I haven’t quite finished, you know, and I’d be quite happy with something on a tray.’

  ‘Nonsense! Besides, we’d like to be at home for once. What are you going to do now you’ve finished the book?’

  ‘Have a few days at home, and then see what turns up,’ said Polly rather cagily. She would have liked to have told Diana about the hospital, but although a dear girl, Diana couldn’t keep anything to herself. Polly paled at the idea of the Professor’s caustic remarks if he should discover that she was going to train as a nurse. Not that he’d been caustic lately; indeed, thinking about it, she was forced to admit to herself that barring one or two slight differences of opinion, they had become quite friendly.

  There was still no one home as she put the last of her work on the desk in the study and then went upstairs. She would wear the pink separates, she decided; the linen was out of the question after Deirdre’s remarks.

  Not that it matters what you wear, she told her reflection as she did her face. She heard Diana come into the house presently, and a little later, the Professor, but she didn’t go down until there was barely five minutes before dinner, and when she did there was no one in the drawing-room. She sat herself down in one of the easy chairs and picked up a magazine, and presently was rewarded by the sound of someone coming downstairs.

  The Professor, and in a hurry. He flung the half open door wide, put his head in and said: ‘So sorry I have to go out after all. I’ll see you at breakfast.’

  Before she could reply he had gone again, to come back a moment later, crossing the room to her with a long stride. ‘You look very sweet in that pink dress,’ he told her, and while she was still staring at him in surprise kissed her soundly. And this time he didn’t come back.

  Diana came in presently. ‘Sam’s gone out—what a life he leads! What luck he wasn’t taking Deirdre out—she’s away, thank heaven—she grumbles for hours on end if he stands her up.’ She wandered over to the drinks set out on the sofa table. ‘Sherry? Have you finished? I’m going to miss you, Polly, although I’m more out than in, aren’t I? But it passes the time until Bob gets back—only another week.’

  ‘And then you’ll get married?’

  ‘Just as soon as we can. I want you to come to the wedding—it’ll be here in the village, so you could drive up, couldn’t you?’

  Polly didn’t answer at once. ‘I’d love to come, but if I’ve got a job I might not be free.’

  ‘Then play truant, or whatever you call it, from work. Have you any plans to marry?’

  Polly shook her head, aware once more of the puzzling feeling of sadness. She shook it off and said cheerfully: ‘None at all. That’s a good thing, because either Cora or Marian is sure to get married soon, they’ve each got a fistful of aspiring husbands.’

  Dinner was a happy little meal because both of them did their best to make it so, and afterwards they sat in the drawing-room, watching the long June day fade into a lovely evening and discussing clothes—Diana’s in particular. ‘I’m going on a shopping spree next week,’ she declared happily. ‘I’ll need masses of new things, I haven’t a rag fit to wear.’ They sat there until quite late talking and drinking their coffee, until finally Polly declared she would have to go to bed. ‘I’ve still got some packing to do,’ she said by way of excuse. ‘You don’t mind?’

  She escaped upstairs, disappointed that she hadn’t seen the Professor and at the same time thankful too. He might have thought that she had sat downstairs on purpose, that they might meet again. She thought of his surprising kiss and then dismissed it from her mind. Probably he’d had some good news or something similar which had made him feel happy. More than likely if it had been Bessy instead of herself, he would have kissed her. She sighed deeply for no reason at all, and got into bed.

  They met at breakfast. Polly, wishing him good morning in a calm voice, thought that the Professor looked tired; certainly, although he answered her civilly enough, he showed no sign of wanting to talk. It wasn’t until Diana joined them that there was any conversation worth mentioning, and that was of a tepid nature. Polly had barely finished her second cup of coffee when she was asked if she was ready to leave. She rose from the table composedly, inwardly put out at the way the Professor was rushing her away, just as though he was glad to see her go. Well, very likely he was, she told herself sensibly as she went to collect her things from her room and then pop down to the kitchen to wish Bessy and Jeff goodbye. Which made her arrive in the hall rather later than she had intended, to find the Professor, a model of contained impatience, sitting on the edge of a console table while Diana, still eating a slice of toast, was curled up in a chair.

  ‘So sorry,’ said Polly, ‘but I had to say goodbye to Bessy and Jeff and the dogs. I’m ready now.’

  The Professor made a sound which could have been a laugh, although she doubted that, and went to the door, to wait while his sister said goodbye. Diana always had a lot to say, it took five minutes for Polly to get into the Bentley beside him and then another two or three because Diana had remembered something she simply had to say to her. They drove off finally in a silence which augured ill for a pleasant journey, but presently he asked, to surprise her: ‘Do you think me a bad-tempered man, Polly?’

  She wasn’t to be hurried into a rash answer; she said after some thought: ‘I don’t think that you’re naturally bad-tempered, only when you’re frustrated or disappointed about something—like most people. Of course you don’t like to be crossed, do you?’

  ‘That largely depends on who’s trying to cross me.’ He overtook three cars in succession. ‘Diana will miss you, she’s been lonely for the last few weeks. It’s a pity she and Deirdre don’t like each other. And you, Polly, do you like her?’

  She thought it prudent to mistake his meaning. ‘Diana? I think she’s a darling girl…’

  ‘Don’t prevaricate—I’m talking about Deirdre.’

  She surveyed the pitfalls ahead and sighed. ‘I don’t know her, do I? She’s pretty and attractive and—and…’

 
‘But you don’t like her. She doesn’t like you.’ His voice was dangerously silky.

  ‘Well, she has no reason to, has she?’ observed Polly sensibly. ‘We’re most unlikely to meet again…’ She added severely, ‘And I can’t see any reason for this conversation, Professor Gervis, so may we talk about something else?’

  ‘But I had a reason,’ he informed her blandly—and then added lightly: ‘You have got something lined up for your future?’

  ‘Yes, thank you,’

  ‘Not going to tell me about it? Being cagey?’ He sounded amused.

  ‘I am not cagey…’

  ‘And it’s none of my business. I can take a hint, like anyone else. Let us discuss the weather.’

  Which, most infuriatingly, he did for the rest of their journey.

  Polly had supposed he was going to Wells Court when he had dropped her off at her home, but common good manners forced her to ask him if he would like coffee before he did so. His instant and willing agreement quite put her out, although right at the back of her mind was the thought that she would be seeing him for a little while longer. She squashed the idea before she could think about it too deeply and opened the front door on to a wave of Talbots, all eager to rush them indoors.

  ‘We haven’t gone to church,’ burst out Ben. ‘We’re going this evening instead—we wanted to be at home when you got here.’

  Polly threw an arm round his shoulders. ‘How lovely to see you all again—I should have hated coming home to an empty house.’ She moved away a little to say hullo to her mother and watched from the corner of her eye the rest of the family bear the Professor off into the drawing room.

  ‘How very kind of Sam to bring you home,’ declared her mother as they put cups on a tray for coffee. ‘And really you should be with the others—how like your sisters to monopolise him the moment he arrives!’

  Sam? thought Polly; she must ask her mother about that later. Now she said placatingly: ‘Well, Mother, they’re great fun as well as being pretty, and I’ve only been working for him—we hardly know each other.’