SYBIL forgot her sulks as they neared London, and she ignored Clive’s cheerful loud voice, too. She said softly, ‘I’m sorry, darling. I did behave badly, didn’t I? But, really, I did feel ill, and it was all so noisy. No one had any time for poor little me—not even you…’
She gave him a sidelong glance and saw with disquiet that he wasn’t smiling. He was going to be tiresome; she had discovered that he could be. He assumed a remoteness at times which was a bit worrying. She was used to being admired and spoiled and she was uneasily aware that he did neither. Which was her reason for captivating him and—eventually—marrying him. She didn’t love him, but then she didn’t love anyone but herself. She was ambitious, and he had money and enjoyed a growing reputation in his profession, and above all she wanted his unquestioning devotion.
The doctor didn’t take his eyes off the road. He said evenly, ‘Yes, you did behave badly.’
Clive thrust a friendly face between them. ‘Can’t blame you, really,’ he said. ‘Not like the rest of us are you? I bet you’ve never done a day’s work in your life. Comes hard, doesn’t it?’
He trumpeted into his handkerchief and Sybil shrank back into her seat.
‘Go away, go away!’ she screeched. ‘I’ll catch your cold.’
‘Sorry, I’m sure. Where I come from a cold’s all in a day’s work.’
‘Do something, James.’ She sounded desperate.
‘My dear, I don’t care to stop the car. What do you wish me to do?’
‘Get him out of the car, of course. If I catch a cold I’ll never forgive you.’
‘That’s a risk I shall have to take, Sybil, for I don’t intend to stop until we get to your place.’ He added gently, ‘You will feel better once you have had a night’s rest. Can you not look upon it as an adventure?’
She didn’t reply, and very soon he was threading his way through London streets to stop finally before the terrace of grand houses where Sybil’s parents lived.
He got out, warned Clive to stay where he was and went with her up the steps. He rang the bell and when a manservant opened the door bade her goodnight.
‘Don’t expect to be asked in,’ said Sybil spitefully.
‘Well, no,’ said the Professor cheerfully. ‘In any case I must get Clive to his friends.’
‘I shall expect you to phone tonight,’ said Sybil, and swept past him.
Back in the car, the Professor invited Clive to sit beside him. ‘For I’m not quite sure where you want to go.’
‘Drop me off at a bus stop,’ said Clive, ‘so’s you can get off home.’
‘No question of that. Which end of Hackney do you want? The Bethnal Green end or the Marshes?’
‘Cor, you know your London. Bethnal Green end—Meadow Road. End house on the left.’ He added gruffly, ‘Me and my girl, we’ve got engaged, see? We’re having a bit of a party…’
The doctor drove across the city’s empty Sunday streets and stopped before the end house in a narrow road lined by small brick houses.
They got the bike down off the roof and Clive said, ‘You will come in for a mo? Not quite your style, but a cuppa might be welcome?’
The doctor agreed that it would and spent fifteen minutes or so drinking a strong, dark brown drink which he supposed was tea while he made the acquaintance of Clive’s girl and his family.
It was a pleasant end to a long day, he thought, driving himself home at last.
Home was a ground-floor flat behind the Embankment overlooking the Thames. The doctor parked the car, and before he could put his key in the house door it was opened by a short sturdy man with grizzled hair and a long, mournful face. Jolly—inaptly named, it had to be admitted—was the manservant whom the doctor had inherited with the flat, along with a charming stone cottage in Berkshire and a croft in the Western Highlands.
With the respectful familiarity of an old servant Jolly greeted the doctor with some severity. ‘Got caught in all that snow, did you? Car’s not damaged?’
‘No, no, Jolly, and nor am I. I’m hungry.’
‘I guessed you would be. It’ll be on the table in fifteen minutes.’ He took the doctor’s coat and case from him. ‘Found shelter, did you?’
‘Indeed we did. At a place called Nether Ditchling—at the vicarage. Charming people. There were others caught in the snow as well—a houseful.’ He clapped Jolly on the shoulder. ‘I enjoyed every minute of it.’
‘Not quite Miss West’s cup of tea. She’s not one for the country.’
‘I’m afraid she disliked it, although we were treated with the greatest kindness.’
He picked up his letters and messages from the tray on the console table. ‘Did you ring the cottage?’
‘Yes. Plenty of snow, Mrs Willett says, but she’s snug enough—hopes you’ll be down to see her soon, says George misses you.’
The Professor was going down the hall to this study. ‘I’ll try and go next weekend. George could do with a good walk and so could I.’
Presently he ate the splendid meal Jolly had ready, then went back to his study to consider his week’s work ahead. He had fully intended to phone Sybil, but by the time he remembered to do so it was too late. He would find time in the morning.
It was gone midnight before he went to his bed and he didn’t sleep at once. He had enjoyed his weekend and he had enjoyed meeting Philomena. He smiled at the memory of her small figure bundled in that old hooded cape—and there had been a feeling when they had met—as though they had known each other for a long time…
Miles away, at Nether Ditchling, Philly turned over in bed, shook up the pillow and thought the same thing.
The snow disappeared as quickly as it had come. March came back with chilly blue skies and sunshine, and the banks beside the roads were covered with primroses. The vicarage became once again an orderly household.
There had been thank-you letters from the Downes, and a colourful postcard from Clive, and from Professor Forsyth a basket of fruit, beribboned and sheathed in Cellophane, with a card attached expressing his thanks. It expressed thanks, too, from Sybil—although she had told the doctor pettishly that she saw no reason to thank anyone for such a ghastly weekend.
‘But you do what you like,’ she had told him. Then, seeing his expressionless face, she had instantly become her charming self, coaxing him to forgive her. ‘And take me out to dinner,’ she had begged him. ‘I’ve the loveliest dress, which I’m simply longing to wear…’
He had agreed that he would do that just as soon as he had an evening to spare. She was a woman any man would be proud to take out for the evening; he had no doubt that she would attract men’s glances and he would be looked upon with envy.
The Professor, driving himself to the hospital later, told himself that he must make allowances for Sybil; she neither knew nor wished to know how the other half lived.
It was as though the weather had decided to apologise for that sudden return of winter. The fine weather continued, and even if the sunshine wasn’t very warm it was bright. Philomena dug the garden, saw to the chickens, and ran various errands round the village for her mother. There was always someone who needed help or just a friendly visit.
Rose and Flora left home each morning, sharing a lift to and from the market town where Rose worked in a solicitor’s office and Flora in an estate agent’s firm. Dull jobs, both of them, but since Flora was engaged to the eldest son of a local farmer and Rose was making up her mind about one of the schoolmasters at the local prep school they neither of them complained since they had their futures nicely planned. Lucy was always busy with her friends, and as for Katie—the brightest of the bunch, the vicar always said—she had her sights set on university. It was a good thing, he often remarked to his wife, that Philly was so content to stay at home.
It was Monday morning again. The girls had left already and Philly had put the first load into the washing machine when someone thumped the front door knocker. Her mother was upstairs making beds, and her father was in his study, so she went to the door. It was someone she knew: young Mrs Twist from a small farm a mile outside the village. Philly had been there only a week before because Mrs Twist had needed someone to keep an eye on her twins while she took the baby to the doctor.
Philly swept Mrs Twist into the house. She had been crying and she clutched Philly’s arm. ‘Miss Philly, please help us. The doctor says the baby must go to London to see a specialist—but there isn’t an ambulance and he’s been called away to Mrs Crisp’s first. Rob can’t leave the farm, so if you could watch the baby while I drive…’
‘Give me five minutes. Go and sit by the Aga while I tell Mother and get a coat. What did the doctor say was wrong?’
‘Possible meningitis. And there aren’t any beds nearer than this hospital in London.’
Philomena raced upstairs and found shoes, coat and gloves, all the while telling her mother about the baby.
‘You’ll need some money. I’ll tell your father…’
The vicar was in the kitchen comforting Mrs Twist and went away to get the money. ‘You may not need it, but it is better to be safe than sorry,’ he said kindly. ‘I’ll go to Mrs Frost and see if she knows of anyone who would go to the farm and give a hand. They had better not have anything much to do with the twins…’
Mrs Twist nodded, ‘Yes, the doctor told me not to let them be with anyone.’
In the car she said, ‘You’re not afraid of catching it, Miss Philly? I shouldn’t have asked you…Rob’s got the baby at home, waiting for me.’
‘Not in the least,’ said Philly. ‘Don’t worry about a thing. Once baby’s in hospital they’ll give him all the right treatment.’
He certainly looked very ill and the small shrill cries he gave were pitiful. Philly sat in the back of the car with him while Mrs Twist drove the seemingly endless route to London.
Since neither of them knew the city well, finding the hospital took time, and although the rush hour was over there seemed endless stop lights and traffic queues. At the hospital at last, Mrs Twist thrust the car keys at Philly. ‘Lock the car,’ she said breathlessly. ‘I’ll take the baby.’
She disappeared into the emergency entrance and Philly got out, locked the car and followed her. Here at least there was speedy help; the doctor’s letter was read, and the baby was borne away to a small couch and expertly undressed. Since Mrs Twist refused to leave him, it fell to Philly’s lot to answer the clerk’s questions. In no time at all there was a doctor there, reading his colleague’s letter and then bending over the couch.
‘Get Professor Forsyth here, will you, Sister? He hasn’t left yet…’
Philly was making herself small against a wall. She supposed that she should find the waiting room, but she didn’t like to leave Mrs Twist. She stood there feeling useless, hoping that she wouldn’t be noticed: very unlikely, she reflected, since it was the baby who had everyone’s attention. She admired the way Sister and the nurses knew exactly what they were doing, and she liked the look of the doctor, bending over the baby and talking quietly to Mrs Twist…
There was a faint stir amongst them as they parted ranks to allow a big man in the long white coat to examine the scrap on the couch.
Philly stared, blinked, and looked again. She had never expected to see him again but here he was, Doctor—no, Professor Forsyth, who had shovelled a path to her father’s chickens wearing an old sweater of the vicar’s and his wellies, looking quite different from this assured-looking man listening to the doctor.
He looked up and straight at her, but there was no sign of him recognising her. She had expected that; the baby had his full attention.
Please, God, let the baby get well again, begged Philly silently.
It seemed a long time before Professor Forsyth straightened his long back and began to give instructions. His patient was borne away in the arms of a nurse. He didn’t go with them, but led Mrs Twist to a chair and leaned against the wall and began to talk to her. She was crying, and he looked across to Philly and said quietly, ‘Will you come here, Miss Selby? I think Mrs Twist would be glad of your company while I explain things to her.’
He did this in a calm reassuring voice; the baby was very ill, but with immediate treatment there was every hope that he would make a good recovery. ‘I shall stay with him for the next hour or so and he will be given every help there is. You will wish to stay here, near him, and that can be arranged. Do you need to go back home?’
‘No, my husband can look after the twins. Can I leave my car here?’
‘Yes. I’ll get someone to see to that for you.’
Mrs Twist dried her eyes. ‘You’re so kind.’ She turned to Philly. ‘You don’t mind? You can get a train, and someone could fetch you from the nearest station. And thank you, Miss Philly. Rob’ll let you know if—if there’s any news.’
‘Good news,’ said Philly bracingly. ‘I’ll go and see Rob as soon as I can.’
The Professor said nothing, but took Mrs Twist with him. Philly sat down to think. She would have to find her way to Waterloo Station, but first she must phone her father, for the nearest station to Nether Ditchling was seven miles away—and had she enough money for the fare?
She was counting it when a stout woman in a pink overall put a tray down on the chair next to her. ‘Professor Forsyth said yer was ter ’ave this and not ter go until ’e’d seen yer.’
‘He did? Well, how kind—and thank you for bringing it. It looks lovely and I’m hungry.’ Philly smiled, prepared to be friendly.
‘Yer welcome, I’m sure. Mind and do as he says.’
Philly ate the sandwiches and drank the tea, then went in search of the Ladies’ and returned to her seat. There was no one else in the waiting room, although there were any number of people going past the open door and the noise of children crying and screaming. She wondered how Baby Twist was faring, and whether she would see Mrs Twist before she left the hospital. She looked at her watch and saw that she had been sitting there for more than an hour. But she had been asked to wait and it was still only mid-afternoon. There was no point in phoning her father until she knew at what time she needed to be fetched from the station. Besides, she was afraid to spend any money until she knew how much the fare would be…
It was another hour before the Professor came, and by then she was getting worried. She had been forgotten, the baby’s condition was worse, and what time did the last train leave?
The Professor folded his length onto the chair beside her.
‘Getting worried? I’m sorry you have had this long wait, but I wanted to make sure that the baby would be all right…’
‘He is? He’ll get better? Oh, I am so glad. And Mrs Twist, is she all right, too?’
‘Yes. How do you intend to get home?’
‘Well, I’ll go to Waterloo Station and get the next train to Warminster, and Father will come for me there.’
‘Have you enough money for the fare?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Philly airily. ‘Father gave me ten pounds.’
He perceived that he was talking to someone who travelled seldom, and then probably not by train. He discarded his intention of a few hours of quiet at his home before going back to the hospital; he could be there and back in five hours at the outside.
He said, ‘I’ll drive you back to Nether Ditchling.’
‘But it’s miles away! Thank you all the same,’ she added quickly.
‘Not in the Bentley,’ he observed gently. ‘I can be back to take another look at Baby Twist later on this evening. He’s in the safe hands of my registrar.’ And when she opened her mouth to protest, he said, ‘No, don’t argue. Wait here for a little longer; I’ll be back.’
She flew to the Ladies’ once more, and was sitting, neat and composed, when he got back.
‘Ready? Mrs Twist has asked me to speak to her husband; perhaps I might phone him from the Vicarage?’
‘Of course you can.’ She trotted beside him out of the hospital and got into the Bentley in the forecourt. She would have liked a cup of tea but she didn’t dwell on that; he was wasting enough of his time as it was.
He had very little to say as he drove, only asked her if she was warm enough and comfortable. She made no attempt to talk; he was probably preoccupied with the baby’s condition—probably regretting, too, his offer to drive her home.
It was a clear dry day, and once clear of the city he drove fast and she sat quietly, thinking her own not very happy thoughts: the poor little baby and his mother—and how would Rob manage with the twins? She would have to go and see him. And how she longed for a cup of tea and something to eat. That was followed by the even sadder thought that the Professor didn’t much like her. Though I like him, she reflected, and it’s a great shame that he’s going to marry that awful Sybil. I wish I were as lovely to look at as she is…
The Professor turned off into the maze of narrow roads which would lead to Nether Ditchling. He was enjoying the drive, although he wasn’t sure why. Philly, sitting like a mouse beside him and not uttering a word, was nevertheless the ideal companion, not distracting his thoughts with questions and trivial chatter. He slowed the car and turned into the Vicarage drive.
‘You’ll come in for five minutes and have a cup of coffee? We won’t keep you, but you must have a few minutes’ rest before you go back.’
He smiled at the matter-of-fact statement as he got out and opened her door. The Vicarage door was already open and her father stood there, telling them to come in.
‘Come into the kitchen. Your mother’s there, getting things ready for supper, Rose and Flora are upstairs, Lucy’s at choir and Katie’s seeing to the hens.’
He led the way and her mother looked up from her saucepans. ‘Philly and Forsyth. Sit down. Coffee in a minute. Is the baby going to be all right—and why is Forsyth here?’
She put two mugs on the table and smiled at him.
‘He’s a professor,’ said Philly.
‘Is he now? But that doesn’t make him any different,’ said Mrs Selby, and he smiled at her.
‘The baby will, I hope, recover. I work at the hospital where he is being treated. His mother is staying with him and it seemed a good idea, since I had an hour or two to spare, to bring Philly back home.’
Mrs Selby darted a look at Philly. ‘We’re very much in your debt…’
‘No, no. Nothing will repay you for your kindness in the snow.’ He drank some coffee and bit into a slice of cake. ‘May I use your phone and talk to Mr Twist? He’s been kept informed, but he might like a more detailed account of what’s being done for his son.’
‘In my study,’ said the Vicar. ‘Can we offer you a bed for the night?’
‘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, reading 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.