THE Vicarage door was open. Gregory pulled the old-fashioned bell and listened to the distant sound of voices and then hurrying feet. The girl who opened the door wider had to be Philly—Sybil’s description of her had been accurate and, he had to admit, spiteful. No looks, but a lovely smile, a mouth which turned up at the corners and beautiful eyes. And her friendly, ‘Good morning,’ was uttered in a soft voice.
For a moment Gregory felt mean, but then he remembered the Strangeways’ yacht, and he returned Philly’s smile.
‘Good morning. I do apologise for bothering you, but Mrs Salter told me that perhaps the Vicar could help me.’
‘Come in. I’ll fetch him for you.’ She ushered him into the drawing room. ‘Do sit down. Father won’t be a minute.’
Gregory sat, but got up as soon as she had left him. The room was large and the furniture in it was good solid stuff, worth quite a bit. There were some good pictures on the walls too, although the armchairs and the sofa were shabby. He went to the window and looked out, then turned round as the door opened and the Vicar came in.
Gregory smiled his charming smile. ‘Good morning, Sir. I hope I’m not disturbing you, but Mrs Salter at the shop sent me to you. I’m looking for a house and she was telling me about the Old Manor and that you had the keys. I should very much like to look over it at your convenience. If you would suggest a time?’
A polite young man and I don’t like him. I wonder why? thought the Vicar.
‘Why not now? I am free for an hour or so, and it is only a couple of miles from here. Do you have a car?’
‘Yes, I’m staying at Netherby House for a week or so.’ Gregory held out a hand. ‘Gregory Finch.’
The Vicar shook hands. ‘Then let us go at once. I’ll get the keys. The house has been empty for some time. It’s a delightful place, but needs some refurbishment.’
He went away for the keys, and they were going down the path to the car when Philly called from the door. ‘Father, the Armstrongs have phoned. Mr Armstrong’s worse; they ask if you’d go right away…’
‘Of course.’ The Vicar turned back to the house. ‘You must forgive me. An elderly parishioner, gravely ill. I must ask you to come at some other time.’
Philly had joined them. ‘I’ll take this gentleman, Father. Now he’s here he might just as well have a look at the house. He can come back if he likes it and discuss it with you. It’s the Old Manor, isn’t it? I saw you take the keys…’
‘Very well, my dear. Lock up well, won’t you? I may possibly be back within an hour or so, and Mr Finch is welcome to wait here if he wishes to know more about the house.’
He hurried into the street and Philly said, ‘Will you wait a minute while I tell Mother?’ and she went back into the house.
Mrs Selby had been looking at them from the drawing-room window. A good-looking young man, she considered, obviously recovering from some injury to his leg. She turned her attention to the sports car, and as Philly came in she said, ‘He looks all right, but don’t let him drive too fast.’
Gregory, seeing her watching him from the window, exaggerated the limp. Older ladies, he had discovered, had a soft spot for the lame.
He was careful to be politely formal with Philly as they drove the short distance to the Old Manor, and once there he inspected the place slowly, asking all the right questions, discussing the garden at some length, asking about the neighbourhood and the village.
‘It is delightful,’ he told her. ‘I should very much like to come again and inspect the place more thoroughly. When is it most convenient for me to come?’
‘Well, Saturday afternoons are mostly free for Father, or any time on Monday. He might be called away, of course…’
He stood aside politely while she locked the house door. ‘Then if I come on Monday around eleven o’clock? I can wait if the Vicar is engaged. I’m able to please myself until my leg is quite fit again and I shall enjoy looking round the church and the village.’
He gave her a quick look and saw that he was behaving exactly as she would expect him to behave.
Philly nodded. ‘If you don’t mind having to wait Mother will be glad to give you coffee. You won’t want to walk too far with that leg.’
Back at the Vicarage they found that the Vicar was still away. Mrs Selby offered coffee and suggested that Gregory might like to wait, but he was satisfied with his morning’s work. He mustn’t rush things. Certainly he must phone Sybil. He thanked her, got into his car and drove away.
‘Was he interested?’ asked Mrs Selby.
‘He seemed to be. He didn’t say much but he wants to go again and talk to Father about it. He was very polite…’
Mrs Selby agreed, ignoring the vague thought that she didn’t like him.
Gregory had said that he must drive back to Netherby for lunch, but he had no intention of doing so; he had told his hostess that he would be away all day and he intended to drive to Bath.
He had had enough of the country already, and a civilised pub and a decent restaurant would help him to while away the hours. He hoped that Sybil’s plan could be carried out quickly, before he got too bored. He pulled into a lay-by and dialled her number on his mobile phone. She would probably not be home…
But she was, and avid to hear if he had been able to meet Philly.
He told her, and listened to her delighted praise. ‘Gregory, you’re a marvel. Now I must get James to go to Nether Ditchling and you must manage to be there…I’ll phone you as soon as I know something. What did you think of Philly?’
‘I don’t know why you’re making such a fuss, Sybil.’ When she made an impatient sound, he said, ‘Oh, all right, I’ll help you out. It will give me something to do in all this boring country, and it shouldn’t be too hard to fix up something. I’m already on good terms with the Vicar and his wife, and it’ll be amusing to get Philly interested in me.’
‘I knew you’d help me,’ said Sybil, and added cunningly, ‘I met David Smale yesterday; he’s been invited by the Strangeways to join them on their yacht. He had heard that you had been invited too.’
Gregory smiled to himself. ‘Let me know what you plan to do and give me as much warning as you can.’
It seemed as though the fates were on Sybil’s side. A carefully casual wish that James might drive her to Netherby so that she could see Coralie met with willing agreement.
He would be free on Saturday. They could have lunch on the way and get to Netherby in the early afternoon, he suggested. Perhaps if he and Sybil saw more of each other—and she had been very sweet and undemanding lately—they could talk about their future. Their separate futures. Her vagueness about it forced him to think that she had no wish to settle down to married life, with a husband and children, and if she would admit that, then they could part amicably with no hard feelings.
He told Jolly that he would be driving Miss West to Netherby on Saturday afternoon, looking so pleased about it that Jolly went to his kitchen and brooded over a future dominated by that lady.
But the Professor was looking pleased because there was a good chance that he might see Philly as they drove through Nether Ditchling.
Which, of course he would.
Gregory couldn’t believe his luck. Primed by Sybil that she and James should be at the village around two o’clock, he had had no difficulty in asking the Vicar to arrange for him to see the Old Manor again. There was the chance that something would upset their timetable, but he thought it unlikely. They both had their phones; Sybil could ring him when they stopped for lunch and give him a good idea at about what time they should reach Nether Ditchling.
He made his own plans and spent the best part of the morning playing the dutiful guest.
‘Such a charming young man,’ observed his hostess. ‘So thoughtful and so amusing. I shall miss him when he goes.’
Her husband, in the habit of keeping his own opinions to himself, grunted in a non-committal manner which allowed her to think that he agreed with her.
Saturday was a busy day for Philly: typing her father’s sermon, since he could never read his own notes, making up beds for Rose’s and Flora’s fiancés, picking the broad beans for Sunday lunch, going to do the church flowers with whichever of the village ladies whose turn it was.
It was warm for the time of year. ‘Likely it’s a taste of ’an ’ot summer,’ the milkman had said early that morning, a remark which had encouraged Philly to put on a cotton blouse and a denim skirt before going to lay the table for lunch.
Her mother and father, Katie and Lucy and herself would be there. It was to be omelettes and a salad, with rolls warm from Mr Brisk’s bakery in the next village.
They all had a great deal to say over their simple meal, for they liked to talk, airing their views, encouraged by the Vicar, who found small talk a waste of time, so that it was later than usual when they got up from the table.
‘What time is Mr Finch coming?’ asked Katie.
Mrs Selby looked at the clock. ‘Goodness, it’s almost two o’clock. He said between two and half past…’
But there was no sign of him when Katie went to look.
They washed up and put the tea tray ready, and Philly went to the hen house to cast an eye over a broody hen. By that time it was almost half past two.
As James slowed the Bentley when they reached the village Gregory slid to a halt outside the Vicarage. Things couldn’t be better; now it was up to Sybil…
She had seen him; she put an urgent hand on James’ sleeve. ‘Stop, James, do stop. That’s my cousin by the Vicarage gate—remember I told you he was staying at Netherby? I must say hello.’
They greeted each other as though they hadn’t seen each other for months. Sybil introduced the men and asked, ‘Whatever are you doing here, Gregory?’
‘Waiting for Philly,’ he told her with a smile. ‘I’m driving her to Bath to do some shopping. Of course—you know her?’ His glance swept from Sybil to the Professor. ‘We met over at Netherby and we rather fell for each other.’ The lies tripped off his tongue with easy assurance. ‘Forgive me if I don’t stay talking; I’d better see if she is ready.’
He got out of his car and started up the Vicarage path with an airy wave of the hand. Of course if the Vicar or his wife were to come out now he would be in an awkward spot…but no one came. He turned at the door and waved again, and saw the Bentley slip away.
He spent a tedious afternoon with the Vicar, inspecting drains and walls and discussing the need for roof repairs, and towards the end of the afternoon his mobile phone rang.
It was Sybil, phoning from Netherby, and he said at once, ‘You’re in town? This evening? May I phone you back?’ He glanced at the Vicar and said, ‘An old friend in town for a couple of days. Wants me to meet him for dinner.’
‘Well, I think you have inspected this house very thoroughly. Suppose we go back to the Vicarage and have a cup of tea and you can drive to town from there? You will want to warn them at Netherby…’
Gregory hid a grin. Everything was going splendidly. ‘I’ll phone them now.’
‘I’ll go and turn the car and start locking up,’ said the Vicar, and wandered off.
Gregory dialled and said loudly, ‘It’s Gregory. Would you forgive me if I go straight to town?’ and then softly, once the Vicar was out of the room, ‘Sybil, we’re just leaving; I’m having tea at the Vicarage. Any chance of you getting there? There’s nothing to stop you knocking on the door and paying a friendly visit. Bring the Professor with you, of course, and I’ll do my stuff with Philly.’
He heard her delighted giggle. ‘I can’t promise anything, but I’ll do my best.’
It wasn’t difficult to suggest getting back to London. Sybil made her excuses in her charming way, and in the car again she said coaxingly, ‘You don’t mind, darling? I do love the country, but after an hour or so I’ve had enough. We can get tea on the way. Where shall we go this evening?’
‘We’ll stop for tea, but I’m speaking at a dinner this evening…’
‘Tomorrow we could go to Henley—go on the river.’ When he hesitated, she said, ‘Oh, all right, you don’t want to go. You never do what I want to do, do you? But you expect me to trail down to that cottage of yours and be bored to tears.’
It seemed as good a time as any. The Professor said quietly, ‘We must talk, Sybil…’
They were nearing the Vicarage and she shouted, ‘Well, I don’t want to talk. Stop—I want a cup of tea and I’m going to the Vicarage. After all, they seem to keep open house.’
‘We can have tea further along the road. You can’t interrupt their afternoon.’
She pointed her finger at Gregory’s car. ‘Why not? It looks as though Gregory has.’
Against his better judgement, the Professor stopped the car. Sybil flounced out and up the path to the Vicarage door, half-open as usual. Since they were having tea in the drawing room the entire Selby family saw her—and the Professor coming more slowly.
Mrs Selby got up and went to meet Sybil. ‘Just in time for tea,’ she said kindly. ‘And your cousin is here on his way up to London. Come in. I think you know nearly everyone here.’ She turned to smile at the Professor. ‘This is a delightful surprise. The girls are always asking when they will see you again.’
‘This is an intrusion, Mrs Selby.’
‘Nonsense. We love visitors, especially unexpected ones.’
Sybil was already sitting by the Vicar, being offered tea and cake, and in the general upheaval Gregory took care to sit next to Philly, joining in the general talk and at the same time contriving to pay her special attention.
Philly, being polite by nature, smiled at his joking description of getting lost, and answered him when he asked her something, speaking in a low voice which the Professor was quick to note. He made civil conversation with the Vicar and stifled the desire to wring Gregory’s neck and then Philly’s.
Mrs Selby, apparently unobservant, said quietly, ‘Philly, fill the teapot, will you, dear? You’ll need more tea.’ And, after a few moments, ‘James—I may call you James?—would you go to the kitchen and tell Philly to bring the other cake? It’s in the cupboard by the Aga.’
Philly was sitting on the kitchen table, swinging her legs and watching the kettle boil. Part of her felt happy, for the Professor was here in the house and she hadn’t expected that, and part of her was unhappy because Sybil looked so beautiful and so sure of herself, glancing at him from time to time and smiling. She wasn’t surprised that he was in love with her…
He walked in and stood in front of her. ‘Your mother wants the other cake. Did you have a pleasant afternoon…?’
‘Oh, yes. We went walking; it’s so nice being with someone you like, isn’t it?’ Indeed it had been nice; she hadn’t seen Mrs Twist’s elderly father for some time, and there had been such a lot to talk about now that Baby Twist was once more a bouncing infant, the apple of his grandfather’s eye. She went on, wishing that he didn’t look so cross, ‘He’s staying here for a week or two, so we shall see each other quite often. He doesn’t care for London and he’s looking for somewhere to live round here.’
The Professor glowered and said, ‘Indeed?’ in a voice to freeze any attempt at light conversation.
It was a good thing that the kettle boiled just then. She made fresh tea and fetched the cake and gave it to him to carry.
Sybil gave them a sharp glance as they went back into the drawing room and a few moments later got up to go.
‘We’re going out this evening,’ she said, and apologised prettily for leaving so quickly, waiting with ill-concealed impatience as James made his more leisurely farewells.
When they had gone Mrs Selby said, ‘What a beautiful young woman she is,’ and everyone agreed, although Katie, remembering how upset Philly had been when she had voiced her opinion once before, held her tongue.
Sybil broke the silence in the car. ‘What a nice family—and the girls are so pretty. Not Philly, of course, although she’s quite sweet. And what a surprise to find Gregory almost one of the family. They certainly seemed on excellent terms, he and Philly. It’s time he settled down.’
‘Aren’t you being rather premature?’ James spoke casually, but, glancing at his profile, Sybil noted its grimness.
‘Perhaps, but you must admit that Philly looked happy.’
‘How long is Gregory staying at Netherby? He’s going up to town this evening, isn’t he?’
‘He’s meeting a friend for dinner…’
‘Does he work?’
‘Oh, yes. Something in the City. But he’s got leave until his leg is quite better. He has money of his own, of course. My uncle’s got a small estate in Norfolk.’
All of this was said with an air of such honesty, yet somehow the Professor’s handsome nose smelled a rat…
With only vague plans made for a future meeting, he dropped Sybil off and drove to his flat, where Jolly took one look at his face and retired discreetly to the kitchen.
‘In a mood,’ he told his cat. ‘Best leave him for a bit and then dish up something tasty. No doubt that Miss West’s been upsetting him again.’
The Professor wasn’t upset, he was in a towering rage. He had taken an instant dislike to Gregory, and to his air of possessiveness each time he looked at or spoke to Philly. If he had been a decent fellow, James told himself, he would have accepted the situation, but Gregory was the very last man for Philly. Besides, he wasn’t sure that she liked him, let alone loved him…
He went in search of Jolly presently. ‘I’m going down to the cottage tomorrow. Have the day off—I’ll not be back until early evening.’
‘I thought that was what you might be doing. There’s a marrow bone in the fridge for George.’
Mrs Willett was delighted when he phoned her. ‘There’ll be roast pork and apple sauce, and one of my treacle tarts, and we can have a good gossip.’ Which meant that she would ask innumerable questions without once probing his private life, knowing that if he wished to he would tell her anything he wanted to.
She knew that he was a very reserved man—he had many friends, but they knew very little about him other than his work. Not one of them approved of Sybil, but they liked him too much to say so, even in the vaguest way. Mrs Willett didn’t like her either, but she was prepared to do her best to do so if that would make her Master James a happy man.
He wasn’t happy; she saw that at a glance although she said nothing. He had a problem and she hoped that he might tell her about it. And sure enough, the pork and apple sauce disposed of, the washing up done and the pair of them sitting in the garden with George at their feet, the Professor said, ‘Nanny, I need your advice…’
‘If I can help, I will,’ said Nanny, ‘and I’ll listen.’
When he had finished, he added, ‘You see, Nanny, I love her, and if she loves this Gregory and wants to marry him I’ll not see her again. But, whether or not she does love him, I know that I cannot marry Sybil. I suppose that I should feel very much to blame for that, but I have known for some time now that she doesn’t love me. She is beautiful and charming, but behind that there is nothing. And before I say goodbye to Philly I want to make sure that she will be happy. Do you know, Nanny, I think that something is not quite right about this Gregory? Though Sybil told me that his home is in Norfolk and that he has a job in the City.’
Nanny was brisk and matter-of-fact. ‘Find out where this man lives and go and see where it is—perhaps manage to meet his father or family. Find out where he works, discover his friends. And don’t tell me that you can’t, for you know any number of people who could help you. If he’s a good man and loves Philly, and you’re satisfied about him, then you can bid her goodbye and take up your life again. If there’s something wrong, you can put it right.’
‘That is what I’ve been thinking. I needed someone to tell me that I wasn’t behaving like a fool.’
It was a few days later, discussing a small patient’s complicated fractured leg, that the Professor’s colleague remarked, ‘Uncommon case this. Only seen one other. A young man some months ago. Private patient and gave a good deal of trouble so I understand—chatting up the nurses, having drinks smuggled in and so on. Told me that he had an executive job in the City; turned out to be a job in name only, working in the family firm whenever her felt like it. Didn’t pay his bill, either. His father settled it finally, explained that though his son had money of his own he was still sowing his wild oats.’
The Professor listened to this with an expressionless face and finally said, ‘I seem to have heard about this—was it Finch…?’
‘Very likely. The father has a small estate in Norfolk; not liked in the neighbourhood. I made it my business to find out before I sent in my bill.’
‘I wonder why I remember the name?’ observed the Professor guilelessly. ‘A village not too far from the sea?’ It was a lucky guess.
‘That’s right—inland from Great Yarmouth. Limberthorpe. A dozen houses and a church.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I must go. Let me know how that leg does…’
The Professor went home and got out a road map. He would be free on Sunday. From what he had heard his dearest Philly had fallen in love with a man who would make her unhappy, but he must give the fellow the benefit of the doubt. He might not be as black as his colleague had painted, and the only way to find out was to go and see for himself. Surely someone in a village as small as Limberthorpe would let drop a hint or two.
He set off early in the morning and reached Limberthorpe in time to join the handful of men in the bar of the village pub. They paused in their talk as he went in. He ordered a pint and sat at the bar, making no attempt to join in their conversation.
Presently one of the men said, ‘You’re strange to these parts?’
‘Just passing through. This village looked so pleasant I stopped for a while.’
‘’Tis pleasant enough,’ said an old man, ‘for them as passes on their way.’
He paused, and the Professor recognised this as a strong hint that a round was called for. This done, he said casually, ‘Why do you say that?’
‘Being sold up lock, stock and barrel, the big house. The old man wants to go and live with his daughter, and young Mr Finch he can’t be bothered with the place, you see. Likes London and racketing around. Can’t be bothered with the house, never been interested in the village.’
The Professor signalled another round. ‘Does that affect the village?’
‘Course it does. We rent our cottages from old Mr Finch, but the young ’un, he doesn’t want to know. The new owner, when they get one, will probably put up the rents or turn us out.’
‘But you could talk to young Mr Finch…’
‘Him? Smooth, he is. Always smiling and wouldn’t lift a finger to save his granny.’
Driving back home later, the Professor reflected that, even allowing for exaggeration, Gregory Finch was the last man in the world he would allow Philly to marry…
He had a busy week ahead of him, so there was no chance to go and see Philly before the following weekend. Sybil was clever enough not to demand to be taken out, being charmingly sympathetic over his long days at the hospital and only once mentioning Gregory.
‘He seems so happy,’ she told James. ‘He sees Philly most days—he’s moved into the local pub so’s to be nearer to her.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘He can’t talk of anyone else.’
None of which was true. But how was the Professor to know that?
His busy week ended in an even busier weekend, so it wasn’t until Monday morning that he got into the Bentley and drove to Nether Ditchling.
The Vicarage door, as usual, was half-open, and somewhere beyond it someone was Hoovering.
Mrs Selby came to the door when he rang. ‘Oh, how nice to see you again. Come on in. Did you want to see the Vicar? He’s in his study.’
‘I wanted to see Philly.’
Mrs Selby shot him a quick look. ‘She’s in the garden, right at the end, hanging out the washing. Go and find her and I’ll put the coffee on.’
Philly, in a cotton dress which was a bit faded, her hair tied back with a piece of string, was pegging sheets with the expertise of long practice.
The Professor didn’t speak until he was close behind her, and then his, ‘Good morning Philly,’ was uttered very quietly.
Philly turned sharply round. ‘Whatever are you doing here on a Monday morning? Shouldn’t you be working?’
Which was hardly a good start to a conversation.
He said meekly, ‘Sometimes I have a day off.’
He took a flapping sheet from her and pegged it neatly. ‘I want to talk to you, Philly.’
She shook out a towel. ‘Is Sybil with you?’
‘No, this is something which concerns us.’
He took the towel from her and hung it up neatly.
Philly picked up a sheet and had it taken from her too.
‘Will you listen, Philly?’
‘No.’ Then, much too brightly, she said, ‘Gregory tells me that you and Sybil are to marry very soon. I hope you will both be very happy.’
‘You believed him?’
‘Of course.’ She hadn’t wanted to, but he had sounded so convincing. She had cried her eyes out that night, and then in the cold light of morning had resolved never to think of the Professor again.
The Professor sighed. ‘Are you going to marry this Gregory?’
‘I shan’t tell you,’ said Philly, turning her back smartly and hanging another sheet. ‘And now, go away, do!’
He went, for there was no point in talking to her until she would listen.
At the house Mrs Selby met him as he went through the kitchen door.
‘Coffee?’ she offered, and then, seeing his face, added, ‘Perhaps you would rather not stop?’
He smiled. ‘I’ll come again, if I may. Tell me, Mrs Selby, does Philly mean to marry Gregory Finch?’
‘Marry him! Great goodness, no. She doesn’t like him overmuch, and he certainly doesn’t mean to marry her—although he’s always on the doorstep. It’s as though he’s…’ she paused to think ‘…acting a part.’
The Professor nodded; Philly had sent him away, but there was a reason for that and it certainly wasn’t because she intended to marry Gregory. If it was because she thought that he and Sybil were to marry, then that was a misunderstanding he must put right.
He should have felt disappointed by her reception of him, but, driving back to London, he felt elated. Sybil and Gregory were somehow concerned in fabricating the man’s assiduous courting of Philly; he must see them both as soon as possible.
He went straight to the hospital. Philly might be the love of his life, but his work was his life too.
It was several days before he had the good fortune to meet Sybil and Gregory together.
He had lunched with a colleague, and with an hour or so to spare was walking back to the hospital. Outside an elegant little café he saw Sybil and Gregory, their heads together over a small table.
Interesting, reflected the Professor; Sybil had phoned to say that she would be staying with friends in Wales for several days. She had also told him that Gregory was still in Nether Ditchling. ‘I hear wedding bells,’ she had said laughingly.
The Professor strolled across the pavement and took a chair between them. ‘Am I interrupting something?’ he asked pleasantly. ‘Are you hatching another instalment of Gregory’s love-life?’ He turned a cold eye on him. ‘If you so much as set foot in Nether Ditchling again I’ll break every bone in your body. Now, tell me why you have been acting the eager bridegroom.’
Gregory had gone pale. He wasn’t a brave man, and the Professor’s nasty smile and the very size of him sent his heart into his boots.
‘It was just a joke. I meant no harm. I did it to please Sybil.’
He ignored the curl of the Professor’s lip and Sybil’s quick, ‘Shut up, Gregory.’
‘She was afraid you’d gone off her; after all, no girl likes to see a comfortable future go down the drain. Only she wanted a bit of fun first. It was a good scheme; I’d put you off Philly and you’d forget her…’ His voice trailed away. ‘Well,’ he mumbled, ‘there’s no harm done…’
‘Don’t believe a word of it,’ said Sybil. ‘I may have mentioned that it would be rather a joke to get Philly interested, but that’s all.’
The Professor got up, towering over them. ‘What a despicable pair you are. If I ever meet you again, Finch, I’ll not answer for my actions. And as for you, Sybil, there is a great deal that I would like to say, but what would be the point? I’m sure you will find yourself a husband without difficulty. I’ll see that a notice goes into the right papers with the usual polite nonsense used for broken engagements.’
‘You wouldn’t,’ gasped Sybil. ‘I’ll marry you when you want…’
‘But I don’t want.’ He smiled coldly at them in turn, and then walked away.
It was almost another week before the Professor was free to drive to Nether Ditchling. It was early afternoon by the time he got there.
The Vicar was putting the finishing touches to his Sunday sermon and Mrs Selby was on the drawing-room sofa with her feet up. All five of her daughters were home, but they were all out, and an hour with a good book was something she had been looking forward to.
She frowned when she heard someone at the open front door and got unwillingly to her feet. But the frown disappeared when she saw the Professor standing there.
‘I’ve disturbed you.’ She was still clutching her book. ‘I’m so sorry. I’ve come to see Philly.’
Mrs Selby beamed. ‘She’s in the church, doing the flowers.’ She glanced at the hall clock. ‘She must be almost finished.’
He nodded, smiled slowly at her, went back to the street and across to the church. She watched him going inside before going back to the sofa. Not to read this time but to make plans—the plans a bride’s mother had such pleasure in making.
Philly was arranging a vase of flowers in one of the side chapels: lupins and phlox, sweet-smelling syringa and floribunda roses. James sat down quietly in a nearby pew and watched her.
When she had finished to her satisfaction he said quietly, ‘Philly, will you leave your flowers for a minute and come with me?’
She turned to look at him, her face suddenly aglow with happiness, and went to him and put her hand in his. Together they went out of the church, across the quiet churchyard and into the narrow lane beyond.
‘We will talk later,’ said the Professor, and took her in his arms and kissed her in a masterful fashion.
Really, there was no need to say anything, reflected Philly, completely and utterly happy. When she was being kissed in such a way words were unnecessary. She looked up into his face and saw the love there. She smiled at him, and then stretched up to kiss him, too.