Polly. Betty Neels

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…’