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PROFESSOR GERVIS fetched Polly the next morning, coldly polite and nothing else. He didn’t mention Sir Ronald, merely drove her to the house, deposited her at the door, rang the bell and stalked back to his car. She didn’t see him for the rest of the day, although Briggs brought her coffee, while she worked and her usual lunch tray. The house was quiet, and determinedly putting everything out of her head other than her work, she typed steadily. At five o’clock she put the completed pages on the desk in the study and went home.

Two more days went by in the same manner, although Sir Ronald’s daughter and son were in the house now. But they made no attempt to see her, and save for Briggs she spoke to no one. And the next day was the funeral.

Her mother and father would go, of course, but even if she had had any idea of going herself, they were scotched by the note left on her desk.

‘Be good enough to remain here after your day’s work. I wish to speak to you.’ It was signed S. G.

Polly read it well twice, tore it into little pieces and put them tidily in the waste paper basket, and when it was five o’clock and there was no sign of him, she covered her typewriter and strolled into the garden.

There had been a good deal of coming and going during the day, but the garden was quiet; cars had been leaving for the last hour or so and she supposed the last one had gone. She sat quietly in the last of the sun, deliberately shutting out speculations as to her future. She had promised she would finish the book, so she would do that, but only because Sir Ronald had wanted it so badly. There was nothing about the Professor, she decided, that would encourage her to do anything for him at all.

He came round the corner of the house, unhurriedly, just as though, she thought indignantly, she had the entire evening to waste waiting for him.

‘I’ve kept you waiting.’ There was no hint of apology in his voice. ‘Is the chapter finished?’

‘No.’

He sat down beside her, sitting sideways so that he could watch her.

‘Am I rushing you if I suggest that you might be ready to leave tomorrow morning?’

‘Yes—you’ve told me almost nothing, Professor Gervis. Where do you live? How long am I to be at your house, how am I to get there…?’

‘I live at Elmley Castle, a few miles from Evesham. You will be at my house until the typescript is finished, and I shall drive you there.’ He added in a patient voice which made her grit her teeth: ‘When you are ready to go, of course.’

‘Thank you. Will you be here tomorrow?’ And when he nodded: ‘I’ll let you know then. Of course you want to get back to your own home.’

‘Naturally.’ He drove her back without another word and to her surprise got out of the car when they arrived. ‘I should like to speak to your father,’ he explained with the cool politeness she had come to expect when he wasn’t being tiresomely arrogant.

She took him along to her father’s study and repaired to the kitchen. Her sisters were out, but Ben was at the table doing his homework and her mother was making rhubarb jam. She looked round as Polly went in and smiled. ‘There you are, darling. You’re late. Did I hear a car?’

Polly cut a slice of the cake left on the old-fashioned dresser. ‘Professor Gervis brought me back. He wanted to see Father. He wants me to go back with him tomorrow, but of course I can’t.’

‘Why not, dear?’ Her mother turned a thoughtful gaze upon her. ‘He’s anxious to get this book finished, isn’t he? I suppose he’s got something to do with publishing?’

‘I haven’t the faintest idea.’ Polly stuffed the last of the cake into her mouth. ‘He seems to know a lot about it. He’s a Professor—perhaps he’s a schoolteacher.’

‘I daresay, darling. We’ll see, shall we? There’s not much you have to do, is there? It wouldn’t take a moment to pack a bag…’ Her mother still looked thoughtful. ‘They’d better have coffee, hadn’t they? Be a darling and put the cups on a tray, will you?’

Polly carried the coffee in presently, to be met by her father’s cheerful: ‘We’re just talking about you, Polly. Professor Gervis is kind enough to say that he won’t leave until tomorrow afternoon; that should give you all the time in the world to pack a few clothes and so on.’

She put the tray down on the table beside her father and didn’t look at the Professor. ‘And what about collecting the manuscript, sorting it out and so on?’

Her father beamed at her. ‘Professor Gervis will fetch you tomorrow morning and you can go through the papers together.’ He took a sip of the coffee she had handed him. ‘So you see, everything is very nicely arranged.’

Polly let her mouth open to protest and caught the Professor’s chilly eye. ‘The sooner the manuscript is typed the sooner you will be home again,’ he pointed out with the unnecessary forbearance of a grown-up cajoling a small child.

She asked woodenly: ‘What time will you be here in the morning, Professor?’

‘Ten o’clock. I imagine we can do all that’s necessary in an hour. I’ll bring you back, and perhaps we might leave at three o’clock?’

‘Very well.’ She gave her puzzled father a smile and went back to the kitchen.

Presently, his visitor gone, her father joined her. ‘A very good man, Professor Gervis. How very fortunate that he’s so enthusiastic about getting Sir Ronald’s book published. He seems to think you may be finished in a month—perhaps a little sooner. He suggests that you might like to come home for your weekends; I thought it very civil of him.’

‘Yes, Father,’ said Polly, and went away to look through her clothes, leaving him to enquire of his wife if there was anything the matter. Mrs Talbot returned his questioning look with a limpid one of her own.

‘Why do you ask, dear?’ She wanted to know. ‘It seems to me to be an ideal arrangement.’ She added: ‘Polly’s talents mustn’t be wasted.’

Polly in her bedroom was packing a suitcase with a regrettable lack of care. She was thoroughly put out; she had been got at and in a most unfair way. She promised herself that she would work all hours and get the manuscript finished just as soon as she possibly could; she would take care to see as little as possible of the Professor, and once her work was finished she would never set eyes on him again. She was dwelling on this prospect at some length when her two sisters, all agog, came tearing into the room, firing questions at her, making plans to come and visit her so that they might see more of Professor Gervis and finally unpacking her case and repacking it carefully with everything properly folded, several of her older dresses flung out, and the addition of her one and only evening dress; a rather plain pleated affair, it’s cream background patterned with bronze leaves.

And when she had protested: ‘You never know,’ declared Cora cryptically. They had wrenched her blouse and skirt from her too, declaring they weren’t fit to be seen and guaranteeing that she should have them both back looking like new by the afternoon, so that she had to wear a rather elderly jersey dress in the morning which the Professor studied with obvious dislike. Polly wished him good morning, with her normal calm, got into a Range Rover beside him and was whisked up to Wells Court, with barely a word passing between them, only, once there, she was surprised to find how helpful he was. He had already looked out all the reference books she was likely to need, all that she was left to do was check the manuscript itself and make sure that there was none of it missing. She tied it neatly into its folder, collected the paper and carbon and eraser and would have taken the typewriter too if he hadn’t told her to leave it where it was. ‘There’s the same model at my house,’ he told her. ‘We’ve enough clutter as it is. If you’ve finished Briggs shall bring coffee; I must go and say goodbye to Sir Ronald’s son and daughter.’ He paused at the door. ‘Do you know them? Would you like to meet them?’

She shook her head. ‘No, thank you. There’s really no need, is there?’ And when he had gone and Briggs had brought the coffee she sat down and drank it. Sir Ronald had been a well liked figure in the village; his children, when they were home, had never bothered to get to know any of its inhabitants. Polly hardly thought they would be interested in meeting a mere schoolmaster’s daughter.

The Professor returned much more quickly than she had expected. He swept her out to the Range Rover with a breezy: ‘Good, that’s done,’ and greatly to her surprise, accepted her mother’s offer of a cup of coffee without hesitation, despite her discouraging: ‘Thanks, I’ll see you at three o’clock,’ as he had stopped outside her home. She excused herself at once, saying that she had to wash her hair, an operation she dawdled over until she heard the Range Rover being driven away.

Her sisters had been as good as their word; the blue pleated skirt looked as good as new, her cardigan had been washed and pressed to perfection and there was a small pile of blouses with a little note begging her to borrow what she wanted, ending with the hope that she would find time to buy some new clothes. She smiled as she packed them; Cora and Marian, both so fashion-conscious, had never understood why she hadn’t bothered much with clothes. She supposed it was because she had felt she would be quite unable to compete. To please them she would take them both shopping and allow them to advise her as to a completely new wardrobe. Rather a waste, for no one would notice her, but at least they wouldn’t look at her like the Professor had done that morning…

After lunch she changed into a jersey two-piece, a little old for her but suitable for a typist, she considered. And she combed her mousy hair smooth so that it fell on either side of her face almost to her shoulders. This done, she studied her reflection in the pier-glass in her room; it gave her no satisfaction at all, nor did her father’s remark that she looked very neat do anything to improve her ego, although her mother bolstered it up again by declaring that her make-up was just right and hadn’t she lost weight in the last week or so?

As for the Professor when he arrived to pick her up, his cool eyes travelled over her person without interest.

She got into the Bentley, wondering what he’d done with the Range Rover, and turned to wave at her mother and father and Shylock. She’d be back for a weekend in no time at all; just the same, she felt forlorn at leaving them and to hide it enquired which way they would be going.

‘Cross-country to Cirencester and then up the A435 to Cheltenham, then turn off at Eckington. It’s not far. Do you know the road?’

‘As far as Cheltenham.’

‘We could take the Evesham road, but the other way is prettier.’

And after that they lapsed into silence. Polly, feverishly trying to think of something to talk about, was profoundly thankful that their journey was a fairly short one and in the Bentley no more than a forty-minute drive.

The village of Elmley Castle was a delightful surprise; there was no castle standing, of course, but the village, with its wide main street bordered by a brook along its length, had a wealth of black and white cottages and old-fashioned walled gardens. The Professor went slowly across the square, past the Tudor inn and turned into a narrow walled lane, and then turned again between high brick pillars into the grounds of a fair-sized house—black and white, like its smaller village neighbours, with a tiled roof and small windows, and surrounded by a mass of flower beds, packed with spring flowers.

‘Oh, how very nice,’ exclaimed Polly. ‘Is this your house?’ And when he nodded: ‘And such a delightful garden—there must be hundreds of bulbs…’

‘Hundreds,’ he agreed in a voice which effectively squashed her chatter, and leaned to open her door.

The house door was open and by the time Polly had got out of the car a girl not much older than herself was coming towards them.

Polly hadn’t given much thought to the Professor’s sister. She had supposed her to be his female counterpart—tall, commanding blue eyes which could turn frosty in seconds, and given to looking down a softened version of his highbridged nose. This girl didn’t fit the bill at all. She was no taller than Polly, with curly brown hair and large dark eyes, moreover her nose was short and straight above a smiling mouth. Polly, taken by surprise, had nothing to say other than a polite murmur as they were introduced. ‘Diana,’ said the Professor laconically, ‘this is Polly, who’s doing the typing.’

Polly had her hand taken while Diana said eagerly: ‘I was expecting an elderly terror with false teeth and a flat chest! How super that it’s you. I’ll have someone to talk to.’

‘No, you won’t,’ observed her brother severely. ‘Polly’s here to get that book finished as soon as possible.’

He led the way indoors, but Diana hung back a little. ‘He sounds awful, doesn’t he?’ she wanted to know, ‘but he’s not really. Of course you’ll get time off—you can’t type all day.’

Polly thought that was exactly what she would be doing if the Professor had his way, but she smiled at her companion. ‘At any rate, my teeth are my own,’ she declared cheerfully.

‘And you are by no means flat-chested,’ observed the Professor from the doorway. ‘Come inside, do.’

It was rather dim inside, a good thing since Polly was rather red in the face. She went past the Professor without looking at him and gazed around her. She liked what she saw; a square hall with flagstones underfoot covered with fine rugs, plaster walls above oak panelling, a splendidly carved serpentine table against one wall and facing it a small walnut settee covered with needlework. There were flowers on the table and above it a mirror in a gilded frame with candle branches.

‘Where’s Bessy?’ asked the Professor, leading the way through a solid looking door into a long low-ceilinged room.

‘Bringing tea—we heard you coming. Shall Polly see her room first?’

He shrugged. ‘Just as you like.’ And as a middle-aged woman came into the room with a laden tray: ‘Hullo, Bessy, will you give the keys to Jeff and tell him to take Miss Talbot’s case up to her room?’ He tossed a bunch of keys at her. ‘Thank you.’ And then: ‘Sit down, Polly. This is Bessy, who is our housekeeper and has been for years; I don’t know what we would do without her. Jeff is her husband. Don’t hesitate to ask them for anything you want.’

He sat down in a large winged chair by the log fire and Diana poured their tea. Polly, always ready to think the worst of him, was surprised when he got up and handed the cups round and followed them with the plate of sandwiches. There was nothing, she conceded, wrong with his manners.

The room was lovely. She glanced around her, as casually as she knew how, to admire the comfortable chairs and huge sofas, little piecrust tables and the glass-fronted cabinets against the walls. There were windows at either end; small leaded, and framed by soft velvet curtains, echoing the chair covers in old rose, and a thick white carpet on the floor which would, she considered, be one person’s job to keep clean, especially when there was a scratching at the door and the Professor got up to let in a bull terrier and an Old English Sheepdog, who instantly hurled themselves at him with every sign of delight. He looked at her over their heads.

‘Toby and Mustard,’ he told her. ‘They won’t worry you, and they’re both mild animals.’

Polly gave him an indignant look. ‘I like dogs,’ she told him, ‘and I’m not nervous of them.’

She offered a balled fist for them to inspect and patted them in turn, and Diana said: ‘Oh, good. They roam all over the house, I’m afraid. There are two cats too, do you like them?’

‘Yes. We have three at home, and a dog.’

She might not like the Professor but she had to admit that he was a good host; he kept the conversation going without effort and so kindly that she began to feel quite at home, and presently Diana took her upstairs to her room.

The staircase was at the back of the hall, dividing to either side from a small landing halfway up. Diana took the left-hand wing and went down a narrow passage at its head. ‘You’re here—nice and quiet. There’s a bathroom next door.’ She flung open a white-painted door and stood aside for Polly to go in. The room was of a comfortable size, furnished prettily in mahogany and chintz, its narrow windows with ruffled muslin curtains. The bathroom leading from it was small but perfect. Polly, eyeing its luxurious fittings said carefully: ‘This is charming—I didn’t think…that is, I expected…’

Diana gave her a wide smile. ‘You’ve no idea how glad I am to have you here. Sam’s away all day most days and it’s a bit lonely. But I’ll be getting married soon…I’m only staying here because Bob, my fiancée, doesn’t like me to be living on my own while he’s away.’

‘I do have to work all day,’ said Polly doubtfully. ‘Professor Gervis wants the book finished just as soon as I can get it typed.’

‘You must be awfully clever. I never got further than “Amo, amas, amat” at school. Sam says your knowledge of the dead languages is extraordinary.’ Diana giggled engagingly. ‘He said it was an awful waste!’

Polly smiled back at her companion. So it was a waste, was it? But a waste he was quite prepared to put to his own use. ‘I’ll unpack, shall I? Then perhaps the Professor will show me where I’m to work and I can get everything ready to start in the morning.’

‘OK. You are keen, aren’t you? Have you got a job? I mean, something else to do besides typing this book?’

Polly shook her head. ‘No, but I think I’ll look for something when I go home again.’

She thought about that while she unpacked. There wasn’t much that she could do. She couldn’t bear the thought of teaching, she didn’t know enough about clothes and fashion to work in a shop, her arithmetic was poor, so an office job or something in a bank was out. She decided not to worry about it for the moment, arranged her few possessions around the room, and went downstairs.

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?’