As it turned out, it wasn’t possible, so the boys went by themselves, and part of their visit to their neighbour’s native land was to be a weekend stay with her cousin and her husband. By nature cautiously reticent, Brian was reluctant to stay with people he did not know, but in the end, his parents, great friends of the Waylands, persuaded him that all would be well. Yet their hostess had just told them they were to stay only one night, not a weekend. Was this a deliberate change or a misunderstanding? Where would they sleep the Sunday night? Would they now miss the chance to meet Professor Tolkien, if this were even possible? As far as he knew, no-one had contacted him on their behalf. He felt at a loss as to what to do. Being a responsible adult in a strange land meant facing unexpected difficulties, he could now see.
Bridget took the boys shopping with her, and the unfamiliar grocery shop they visited was a revelation. You placed your order at a counter, and shop assistants fetched it for you while you waited. She bought “kidneys” for a pie, and something called a “treacle tart” for dessert. When they walked back, Brian noticed a car in the driveway, a black Riley saloon. “Ah, Oi see Dr. Perry’s home. “I’ll have to leave ye now. Oi must attend to moi duties.” A tall white-haired man waved to Bridget from the kitchen door and closed it after she entered the house. Had the man seen them? If so, this was unpardonably rude, thought Brian. His brothers were examining a cage of some sort, half-buried in the long grass. The door opened. “Come here, my lad!”
Brian moved uncertainly towards the house, leaving his brothers absorbed in the grass.
“Yes, you,” said the other Dr. Strong. “Meet me in my study,” he added, beckoning to a room at the end of a dim corridor, and turning into the kitchen. Was Brian in trouble? If so, why?
The study was a large room filled with floor-to-ceiling glass bookcases and Victorian furniture, complete with dusty plants on doilies next to sagging armchairs and side tables worse for wear. Volumes of poetry and a sheaf of papers sat on a pedestal desk in front of a window in need of cleaning.
“Like books, do you?” asked the ‘other doctor’ as he entered and closed the door quietly.
“Yes, sir, I do!” was his enthusiastic response. “Particularly fantasy, but not science fiction.”
“Is there any difference?”
“Well… not to some, perhaps,” Brian admitted.
“To me, they’re all of a piece. Enlighten me!” He began to light a pipe, and sat down heavily.
