He was of course: perfectly all right, fast asleep, and her mother was far from reproachful; and Nanny, a very down-to-earth Yorkshire girl, clearly felt it had all been rather exciting and wanted to know all about it when Diana went up to kiss Jamie goodnight.
She walked down to the drawing room where Caroline was waiting with a bottle of champagne.
She’d even been paid two guineas an hour. She thought now, as she sat in the drawing room, wolfing down supper from a tray, regaling her mother with the details of her day, that if today had gone well and she was asked to do some more work, she would be able to spend more time in London, and not only need fashionable clothes but be able to afford them for herself. But maybe that was too much to hope for. It didn’t even occur to her to ring Johnathan.
Blanche phoned in the morning and said the pictures were good and that Kirill was thrilled. She would certainly like to use Diana again if the right opportunity came up.
‘You look far more stylish than I dared hope,’ she said. ‘When I showed Miss Banham, the editor, she was really rather pleased. She said you looked a little tubby in some of them, but I’m sure you can deal with that before next time, and we can choose the shots carefully. Kirill has a marvellous printer whose forte is retouching. Kirill says he can shave your stomach outline quite easily.’
‘So you’ll definitely be using some of them then?’ Diana was unabashed by this insult, thinking she would go onto a complete starvation diet immediately if that was going to ensure her a future in this wonderful new world.
‘Well, of course we’ll be using them. We’re not going to waste a day’s shooting and all that expense. Now do give your phone number in Yorkshire to my secretary, won’t you, so I can contact you easily when I need to. I don’t suppose you have an agent yet – perhaps you should get one. Give Lucie Clayton a call, they might take you on.’
Diana didn’t even bother telling Johnathan about her day, or possible new future. But a moment of pure joy came, even greater than when the October edition of Style thumped through the letter box and there she was – or was it her, that aristocratic, fine-boned creature, looking as if she owned Hampstead Heath as she posed and smiled and scowled and strode across it?
Her mother-in-law appeared at her front door a week or two later and said she’d heard from a friend that there was someone who looked rather like her in a copy of Style magazine. ‘Not that I’d read it, obviously.’ Is it possible that they were one and the same?
Diana, smiling at her sweetly, said yes, they were indeed. Vanessa asked what Johnathan had felt about it. Diana said she hadn’t told him. Vanessa said that as his wife, Diana should have asked his permission. He might have felt unhappy or uncomfortable about it.
‘Vanessa,’ said Diana, smiling at her, ‘there’s only one picture where I’m not actually wearing gloves. I cannot imagine it making Johnathan uncomfortable. Would you like to see them for yourself? Just to be reassured?’
She was clearly rather shaken by the five pages of the magazine and had the grace to say that Diana did look quite smart, then said she had really come for the minutes of the AGM of the WI which were needed urgently for the local paper. She made it sound as if the front page of The Times was at stake.
A week later Diana received a call from Blanche asking her to come for some Christmas party fashion. ‘Can you be here for Thursday? Kirill has expressly asked for you. Several girls, of course, not just a solo turn.’
Diana knew that nothing, not even Johnathan’s expressly forbidding it, would keep her from such happiness. Two days later she, Nanny and Jamie were on the London train from York, to stay with her mother. Far from forbidding it, Johnathan seemed rather relieved she wasn’t going to be sitting at home on her own while he embarked on a series of talks he was giving to sundry farmers’ unions across the country.
The December issue of Style carried three double-page spreads of girls in the most outrageous party clothes Blanche and Lorelei had been able to find, including one of Diana wearing a simple black silk sheath by Jacques Fath which Blanche had accessorised with a sort of bridal veil also in black. Diana had thrown it back in a pose of extraordinary abandon, and was half laughing in an indisputably and extremely sexy way. Every other girl in the shot faded into the background; it was always said later that it was the photograph that had really launched Diana’s career.
Chapter 19
1951
It was a magnificent speech. Roaring through the Commons in that unmistakable voice, at once so strong and yet so musical, rising and falling like the valleys and hills that had shaped him and his principles and his every belief. The valleys and hills indeed were at the heart of the speech: for this was a small stone, he said, ‘falling down towards a valley that would become an avalanche’.
The items in question were quite modest; spectacles and dentures would entail a small charge. ‘But,’ Bevan thundered, as his audience sat silent. ‘Prescriptions? Hospital charges?’
‘And he finished,’ Tom said to Alice, who was working extremely hard on maintaining her expression of intent excitement, ‘by saying there was only one hope for mankind and that is democratic socialism. And that there is only one party in Great Britain which can do it – and that is the Labour Party. And it was terrible – not only the Tories, but the Labour Party seemed to be against him in the House. They’re even saying now he’s destroyed the Labour Party’s chances in the election. How could that be, when he is so true to them, and their principles?’
‘Tom,’ said Alice gently. ‘Tom, eat your food. It’s getting cold and it’s a bit of a shame, seeing as I spent two hours cooking it.’
‘Sorry,’ said Tom. ‘I’m sorry, Alice, and it is very nice, of course. Very nice. Thank you.’
‘So what do you think will happen to him next?’
‘What, now he’s resigned? I don’t know. He’s still looking after housing, of course. But we may not win the election anyway, and …’
Alice tried to suppress a sigh. When Tom was in full flood like this, nothing stopped or even slowed him. She wondered what Laura had done on these occasions. She wondered increasingly about Laura these days, while not wishing to in the least. Indeed, she had done ever since that first rather amazing day two months ago now, in the middle of February, when there had been a message on the noticeboard at the nurses’ home to say Tom Knelston had rung her and could she call him back.
Her first instinct was not to. To ask for her number on New Year’s Eve and to put it to use over six weeks later was hardly morale boosting. Then she suddenly noticed what the date was. She looked at the note saying there were some flowers for Sarah Jane Harding to collect from the kitchen, and thought about the fact that she would be very much alone in the sitting room, and decided that, if only for the one evening, she should swallow her pride and call Tom Knelston back.
She tried to imagine what might have propelled him finally into action. All right, it was Valentine’s Day, but he seemed the opposite of romantic in that sense. She decided she should ring Tom back, however much she would like to play it cool.
He answered straight away, which she found rather encouraging; he was obviously waiting for her to ring. ‘Tom Knelston, hello?’
He did have a very nice voice; it was deep and contained only the slightest burr of Hampshire accent – she liked that burr.
‘Hello, Tom. It’s Alice here. Alice Miller,’ she added, rather unnecessarily.
‘Hello, Alice. How are you? Thank you for ringing.’
‘That’s all right.’
There was a long silence. Alice began to panic. What could she say? The silence grew. She felt herself feeling rather dry in the mouth. This was ridiculous. He’d rung her.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said finally. ‘So sorry, Alice, for not ringing before. It was very rude of me. It’s a long time since New Year’s Day.’
‘Well,’ she said, aware how fatuous she was sounding, ‘not that long.’
‘It is. Six weeks. Six weeks an
d three days, actually.’
Alice giggled. She couldn’t help it.
‘Well, never mind. I wasn’t counting,’ she added untruthfully. ‘Anyway, you didn’t say you were going to ring.’
‘Didn’t I? I meant to. Well, I told Jillie I would. When I asked her for your number.’
‘And,’ she said, smiling into the phone, ‘and how was I supposed to know that?’
‘Well, of course you weren’t. Anyway, I did mean to. It’s really nice of you to ring me back now. I’m not very good at this sort of thing. I – I just wondered if you’d like to go out one night.’
‘I’d love to, Tom. Thank you.’
‘To the pictures, perhaps? Have you seen Harvey?’
‘No, I haven’t.’
Nor did she want to.
‘We’ll go on Saturday. We could go to one of the Corner Houses for a bite first, if you like. Maybe the one in Piccadilly? At six?’
‘Sounds fine.’
‘Good.’ There was a bit of a silence, and then he said, ‘Goodnight, Alice. And thank you.’
She put the phone down, smiling at it rather foolishly.
She might have been just a little less joyful had she known that what had actually prompted Tom to finally make the phone call was almost – no, entirely – due to Jillie Curtis.
Two evenings earlier, not having seen Jillie since her party, Tom was trudging towards the bus stop through an icy rain, after a particularly frustrating and depressing session at his Citizens’ Advice Bureau surgery in the main Islington library. He’d had them all that evening, all the desperates as he thought of them, each one saddening and enraging him more than the last. People sacked without any real cause, people evicted from flats or rooms which, however unsuitable, provided some kind of home, people with ruthless landlords putting up already extortionate rents, people desperate to get a council house. These people brought Tom closer to disillusion with the government than anything else. They had achieved a lot, but not enough. There were just too many in need. And the housing programme was a particular failure.
That night the world seemed filled with depressed, unfortunate, helpless people; and he was failing them all. He knew he ought to be going to Transport House and checking over some press release to check their legality. But somehow he couldn’t. Maybe he should forget politics, maybe he should concentrate on his career as a lawyer. It could be a more positive, more fulfilling thing to do and he could make some money, feed his self-esteem. Then, as if on cue, supporting the heresy, temptation arrived.
‘Tom! Hello! How lovely to see you. I always forget you belong up here now in the frozen north. Isn’t it freezing?’ It was Jillie, looking pretty and warm in a red coat with a hood, rosy, happy.
He smiled back at her, said, ‘Hello. Nice to see you.’
‘Where have you been and what have you been doing? Something noble and useful I expect –’
‘Not very,’ said Tom. ‘Failing a lot of people at my Citizens’ Advice surgery.’
There was a slightly awkward silence and then to his astonishment Tom heard himself asking her if she had had supper and if not, would she care to join him.
‘I’m afraid I have,’ she said apologetically, adding, ‘with Alice, actually. We went to the pictures, saw such a silly lovely old film called The Red Shoes all about a ballerina who married a conductor and threw herself under a train because she couldn’t choose between him and the ballet.’
‘It sounds – very good,’ said Tom politely.
‘Well, it was fun. And then we had a quick supper at the Corner House. I don’t think I could eat another now, fun as it would be.’ She hesitated, then said, ‘Look, there’s nowhere open now anyway, and you obviously need food after advising all those citizens. Why don’t you come back to my house? My parents are probably out and there’s always soup in the fridge, I’ll warm that up for you. Go on, Tom, it would be lovely for me. Otherwise I’ll have to do what I should be doing, and revising the construction of the pelvis. About as much fun as the citizens, I should think.’
And Tom heard himself climbing into Jillie’s little red Morris Minor. ‘This is the love of my life,’ said Jillie as she switched on the engine. He felt no sense of injustice on behalf of all the people who didn’t have cars and had to stand at bus stops, getting cold and wet, just huge gratitude and pleasure; emotions repeated as they climbed the steps to the great front door of number five Channing Road, and walked into its beguiling warmth and charm.
‘Right,’ said Jillie, ‘to the kitchen. Oh, here’s some nice fresh bread, and some cheese, and a pot of Cook’s special raisin chutney. How about a beer? Daddy always has some in the cellar.’
Tom sat, drinking the soup and eating the bread and cheese, and enjoying the beer, feeling any sense of guilt melt away. And enjoying the company of Jillie, who was drinking from a huge cup of tea and eating ginger biscuits, chatting and smiling. Then, suddenly, he heard himself say, ‘How – how is Alice?’
‘She’s fine,’ said Jillie. ‘Working very hard. She’s decided she wants to be a theatre nurse. She likes the drama of surgery, the sense that you’re getting something done. My –’ She hesitated, blushed, then said, ‘I have a friend who’s a surgeon, he says the same thing. So much of medicine is slow. Treating with drugs, with rest, with good nursing. Surgery, you have a chance to put things right, straight away. Of course sometimes it goes wrong, but when it goes right, then you’re God, you’ve given the person their life back.’
‘I see. This friend, this surgeon, is he very successful?’
‘He will be. He’s only just become a consultant. An honorary, as they used to be called.’
‘And – what sort of surgery does he do?’
‘Paediatrics. Working with children. He doesn’t just operate, of course, there’s a lot of the other sort of work too. Putting crooked limbs and knock knees into plaster casts, all sorts of minor children’s ailments, tonsils, appendicitis, that sort of thing. Then he’s very interested in –’ She stopped. ‘Sorry. You don’t want to hear all this.’
‘It’s interesting. Have you known him long, this surgeon?’
‘No, I met him on New Year’s Eve. But we, well, we see a lot of each other. He’s very nice.’
‘So – so is he your boyfriend?’
‘Just about. A very new one, though. How about another beer?’
‘That would be – very kind. Oh, this is so nice. To be talking to you while I eat. Instead of all by myself, I mean.’
‘Oh, Tom,’ said Jillie, looking quite shocked. ‘That sounds like a dreadful way to be living. So alone.’
‘It is. But – it’s the way things have worked for me. Laura died, and the baby died, so of course I’m alone.’
‘Yes, of course you are. Tom, I’m so sorry.’
She fetched the beer, sat looking at him, clearly not knowing what to say.
‘It’s all right,’ he said, smiling at her. ‘I’m quite used to it.’
‘I know but …’
Then, and he would never have managed it had he not felt so totally relaxed, and been halfway through the second beer, and wanting, besides, this warm sociable evening to go on and on, and because suddenly he really wanted to know …
‘Has – has Alice got a boyfriend?’
‘No, Tom,’ said Jillie, her expression carefully blank. ‘No, she hasn’t.’
‘I see. I just wondered. I mean, we did get on very well at your party. I’d really like to see her again. If you don’t think she’d mind me getting in touch after all this time.’
‘I think she’d be delighted.’
‘Do you? You see, I really did mean to ring her. I should have done. Only – well, it’s hard to explain. I still feel so – I belong to Laura, you see.’
‘Of course you do. And I suppose you feel disloyal. Even thinking of going out with someone else, getting involved with them possibly?’
‘Yes. Yes, I do. I loved her so much.’
‘But—’
‘I wasn’t going to,’ said Jillie. ‘I was going to say I should imagine you want to stay on your own, however lonely you are, because it’s how you keep her alive.’
‘Yes, that’s exactly right,’ he said, astonished at her perception. ‘Exactly. I can keep her – well, not alive, but alive in my memory, everything about her. I can’t have her blurred.’
‘Oh, Tom,’ said Jillie and there were tears in her eyes now. ‘I am so, so sorry. It was cruel, what happened to you, so unbelievably cruel. But – forgive me – you have to think of yourself too. You’re clever and you’ve done so well, and you’re ambitious and you could be really successful, I think, and I love the way you’re a real socialist. But I think being so miserable and alone all the time – and this has nothing to do with Alice, you certainly don’t have to ring her – but being so lonely is holding you back. Making you not believe in yourself, and making you negative. What would you think about that?’
‘I – I’m not sure,’ said Tom.
‘And all right, of course you don’t want to be disloyal to Laura, but I do know one thing – and don’t forget I met Laura – I thought she was one of the bravest, most positive people I ever met, and I just know she wouldn’t want you to be wasting your life. She’d want you to do justice to yourself.’
Tom sat in silence for some time; it wasn’t an awkward silence, it was rather the reverse, it was easy and comfortable and rather happy. He let Jillie’s words work their way into his head. ‘Jillie, thank you for that. Of course you’re right. She’ d – well, she’d be furious with me.’
‘I don’t know about furious,’ said Jillie, ‘but maybe rather sad.’
Two days later, still with nothing accomplished, Tom realised, as he walked into the newsagent to buy his Daily Mirror, that it was Valentine’s Day. What happened next became, as they say, history.
A Question of Trust Page 22
