had been a cheerful chorus of ‘goodnight,’ as she went, now followed by an awkward silence. The professor went back to the sink. ‘Sybil has found everything rather upsetting,’ he observed. ‘She will be fine after a good night’s sleep.’
‘Which reminds me,’ said Philly. ‘Clive’s in your bed. I’ll get some blankets and a pillow for the big sofa in the sitting room. You’re too big for it, but if you curl up you should manage.’
Everyone went thankfully to bed, leaving the professor, with one of the reverend’s woolly sweaters over his shirt, to make himself as comfortable as possible on the sofa. As he was six foot four inches in his socks, and largely built, this wasn’t easy, but he was tired; he rolled himself in the blankets and slept at once.
He opened his eyes the next morning to see Philly, wrapped in an unbecoming dressing gown, proffering tea in a mug.
Her good morning was brisk. ‘You can use the bathroom at the end of the passage facing the stairs; Father’s left a razor for you. The water isn’t very hot yet, so I’ve put a jug of boiling water on the kitchen table for you.’
He took the mug, wished her good morning, and observed, ‘You’re up early.’
‘Not just me. Rose has gone to wake the Downes, but we thought we’d better leave Clive until you’ve seen him—in case he’s not well.’
‘Very well. Give me ten minutes.’
In a minute or two he made his way through the quiet cold house. Someone had drawn the curtains back and the white world outside was revealed. At least it had stopped snowing …
He found the bathroom, shaved with the vicar’s cut-throat razor, washed in tepid water, donned the sweater again and went to take a look at Clive.
He had recovered, except for the beginnings of a nasty head cold, and professed himself anxious to go to breakfast.
‘No reason why you shouldn’t. If you’re still anxious to get to London as soon as the road’s clear I’ll give you a lift. We can tie your bike on the roof.’
With the prospect of the weather clearing, breakfast was a cheerful meal. The porridge was eaten with enthusiasm—although Sybil nibbled toast, declaring that she hadn’t slept a wink and had no appetite. But her complaining voice was lost in the hubbub of conversation, heard only by the doctor sitting next to her.
‘If the snowplough gets through we will be able to leave later today,’ he told her, and then, hearing Philly saying in a worried voice that the hens would be snowed in, he volunteered to shovel a path to their shed.
So, in the vicar’s wellies and with an old leather waistcoat over the sweater, he swung the shovel for a couple of hours. When he had cleared a path Philly came, completely extinguished in a cape, carrying food and water to collect the eggs. ‘Enough for lunch,’ she told him triumphantly.
The worst was over; the sun pushed its way through the clouds, the snowplough trundled through the village and they lunched off bacon and egg pie with a thick potato crust to conceal the fact that six eggs had been made to look like twelve.
The Downes were the first to go, driving away carefully, hopeful of reaching Basingstoke before dark. Half an hour later the doctor left, with a transformed Sybil, wrapped in her coat and skilfully made up, bestowing her gratitude on everyone.
The doctor shook hands all round and held Philly’s hand for perhaps a moment longer than he should have, then ushered Sybil into the car, followed by Clive. They had roped the bike onto the roof and Clive, despite his cold, was full of gratitude to everyone. Well, not Sybil. He had taken her measure the moment he had set eyes on her, and why a decent gent like the doctor could be bothered with her he had no idea. He blew his nose loudly and watched her shudder.
The Bentley held the road nicely, but travelling at a safe speed they wouldn’t reach London before dark. The doctor settled behind the wheel and wished that they had been forced to spend a second night at the vicarage, although he wasn’t sure why.
CHAPTER TWO
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 …’
