Digory leaned back in his chair, sipping his brandy with a contented sigh. There was, he reflected, no company in the world quite like Polly. He'd known Polly all his life, or all the important parts of it: so long they scarcely needed to talk anymore. Tonight, however, he suspected Polly was sulking. Digory was determined not to let that get the better of him. He poured her another brandy and pushed it across the side table.
'Why didn't you tell me?' she glared at her brandy balloon as if it, not he, had offended her.
'I did tell you,' Digory said mildly. 'You're here, aren't you?'
'Months after they returned.'
Digory proceeded to pack his pipe. Polly knocked back her brandy in quick, sharp gulps. Digory might once have made some comment about unladylike drinking habits, but he was a wiser man in his later years.
'What's so special about them?' Polly demanded.
'It doesn't take much to open an enchanted wardrobe.'
Polly glared at him. 'It's a special place. You have to be special.' She poured another brandy. 'Anyway. Why them?' She sipped more decorously. 'Why not us?'
'I imagine we're rather too old for Narnia, Polly.'
'That's just the thing. Why?' She snorted. 'Two grown adults would make better Kings and Queens than four children, don't you think?'
Digory raised an eyebrow.
'If He wants children,' Polly continued, 'well, we were children once, weren't we? He wanted adults, then.'
Digory leaned over and removed her hand from the brandy. 'I've always wished we had more time. But time is destroying those children, you can see that.' Polly might have been crying now. He squeezed her hand. 'Crowns would never have suited us, Polly. And I'm glad of it.'