The professor was still frowning. âDid you go out at all yesterday?â
âWell, no. I was wondering if you would mind if I went into the garden sometimes?â she asked.
âYou may do so whenever you wish, Polly, and it would be a good idea if you took some time off for a walk during the dayâor you can use one of the bikes in the shed by the garage.â
âOh, good!â She smiled at him once more.
And as though the words were being wrung out of him he added, âI hope youâll be happy while you are here.â
Polly looked surprised. âI canât think why not.â She added matter-of-factly, âItâs a job, isnât it? And I can go home each weekend. Besides, it wonât last all that long.â She gave him a friendly nod. âNow Iâm going to get on, and I expect youâve got things to do, too.â
The professor said nothing. The expression on his face was blandly polite, but his eyes gleamed. Yet Polly, her head already bent over Sir Ronaldâs spiky writing, didnât see that.
Romance readers around the world were sad to note the passing of Betty Neels in June 2001. Her career spanned thirty years, and she continued to write into her ninetieth year. To her millions of fans, Betty epitomized the romance writer, and yet she began writing almost by accident. She had retired from nursing, but her inquiring mind still sought stimulation. Her new career was born when she heard a lady in her local library bemoaning the lack of good romance novels. Bettyâs first book, Sister Peters in Amsterdam, was published in 1969, and she eventually completed 134 books. Her novels offer a reassuring warmth that was very much a part of her own personality. She was a wonderful writer, and she will be greatly missed. Her spirit and genuine talent will live on in all her stories.
THE GIRL AT the table read her letter slowly, her neat brown head bowed over its single page, watched by everyone sitting with her. She came to the end and then started to read it over again, and the boy sitting beside her cried impatiently: âPolly, whatâs it say? Do tell us, whyâ¦â
âHush, Ben.â His mother, even more impatient than he was, spoke quietly. âPolly will tell us when sheâs ready.â She added hopefully: âWonât you, dear?â
The girl looked up and glanced roundâthey were all there, her mother, father, two very pretty sisters and the twelve-year-old Ben. âIâve got the job,â she said, and beamed at them all in turn as she handed the letter to her father. âNine to five except Saturdays and Sundays, and a decent salary, too.â
âDarling, thatâs marvellous!â exclaimed her mother, smiling at her youngest daughterâthe plain one of the family and the one with the brains. Cora and Marian had no need of brains; they were so pretty that they would marry just as soon as they could decide which of their numerous boy-friends would make the best husband. Ben was still at school and clever too, but it was Polly, twenty years old, with a clutch of GCSEs and A-levels and a natural bent for dead languages, who had inherited her learned schoolmaster fatherâs clever head. And a good thing too, thought Mrs Talbot, for she had no looks to speak ofâa slightly turned up nose, far too wide a mouth, even though it had soft curves, straight brown hair and a little too plump for her medium height. Her only good features were her eyes, large and brown, fringed by curling lashes which needed no mascara at all. They twinkled engagingly now. âItâs a lot of money,â she said happily, and indeed for the Talbot family it was for there wasnât a great deal to spare by the time Benâs school fees had been paid and the rambling Victorian villa they lived in, with its elderly plumbing and draughts, was always in need of some vital repair or other. True, Cora and Marian both had jobs, cycling to nearby Pulchester, one to work in the public library on three afternoons a week, the other to spend her mornings in one of the townâs boutiques. She was paid a pittance, but she was allowed to buy her clothes there at a big discount and naturally enough all her money went on that, and since she and Cora were the same size and shape, she bought for her too, so that neither of them ever had a penny piece between them. But at least, as Mrs Talbot pointed out to her husband, they paid for their clothes and perhaps they would be able to find better jobs later on. Or marry, she added to herself hopefully.
âWhen do you start, dear?â asked Mrs Talbot.
âNext Monday.â Polly drew her straight brows together. âIâll have to leave at half past eight, wonât I? Itâs twenty minutes on the bike if I do go down Tansy Lane.â
âWhat will you wear?â asked Cora.
Polly pondered for a moment. âA skirt and a blouse, I suppose, and a cardigan. Itâll be a bit chilly in the morningâ¦â
âNeâer cast a clout till May be out,â quoted Ben.