A Question of Trust

by Penny Vincenzi

  But she shrank from the sensible thing, the wise thing. She found herself in a whirlwind of distress whenever she thought about it, about tearing this tiny precious growing thing from its safe haven, abandoning it, and to what? What became of these small live creatures – were they just disposed of, flushed down the clinic lavatory, thrown into its sluice? The thought was impossible to bear. Whatever else she did, she could not do that, and long before the train reached York station, she had made that decision at least. For all the others she had, at the very least, time.

  * * *

  ‘Oh, Alice, how lovely. How very, very lovely. I’m so happy for you.’

  ‘I’m pretty happy for myself.’

  ‘And – when?’

  ‘April. A spring baby.’

  ‘Is Tom all right?’

  ‘Yes, he’s very happy. I know what you mean – I thought it might make him sad or anxious, but no, he’s just delighted. With himself as well as me.’

  Jillie laughed. ‘Men!’

  ‘I know. My sentiments exactly. Now I want to ask you something.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I want you to be the godmother. Will you?’

  ‘Oh, Alice, I’d love that. Thank you. Of course I will.’

  ‘Good. The only one, as I’m determined it will be a boy. Actually, even if it’s a girl, I still don’t want you having to share her. Tom won’t care if we have two godparents or twenty, he’s a total non-believer, as you know – only has things like christenings and weddings to keep me and my parents happy.’

  ‘It’s odd, that.’

  ‘I know what you mean. When he goes to see Laura at the little churchyard, I wonder where he thinks she is, if anywhere. I mean, he does still go, quite often –’

  ‘Do you mind?’

  ‘Sort of. But – I shouldn’t. I’ve never asked him about it. Although he hardly ever talks about her, except to say things about her political beliefs, or her teaching methods, I don’t think he’d refuse to answer if I asked him.’

  ‘He never suggests you go with him?’

  ‘Never,’ said Alice.

  ‘Or that you’d like to?’

  ‘No. I’m not sure that I want to, but – I do wish he’d ask. It really does make me feel very – very shut out. And of course I worry about her, all the time.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Well, whether I’m doing well enough. Living up to her. Whether she made a fuss about being sick, or whether she complained about being tired all the time. It’s awfully difficult, competing with somebody perfect.’

  ‘Alice,’ said Jillie firmly, ‘you’ll drive yourself mad. You said yourself that Tom said she wasn’t perfect, and you just have to accept that. He loves you, he’s told you so many times.’

  ‘I know,’ said Alice. ‘Most of the time I do manage. But I still feel he’s shutting me out. And this is worse. More difficult. We’re living through what took her away from him.’

  ‘Yes, but you said he’s beside himself with happiness. You have to accept that, or you’ll spoil the whole thing for yourself and him. I can see how hard it is, but you just have to. Now look, I wasn’t going to tell you, steal your thunder, but I’m going to distract you. I’ve got some news.’

  ‘Oh, Jillie, what? What what what?’

  ‘We’ve sort of got a date. And it’s really good, because you’ll be over the baby, and I want you, of course, to be matron of honour.’

  Alice squealed with pleasure, hurled herself into Jillie’s arms.

  ‘Jillie, Jillie. That is so lovely. When?’

  ‘July next year. I just finally put my foot down. I said June or nothing and he said not June, and I was all ready to throw the ring at him, but then he said he was delivering his paper in June, you know the one on premature babies, but how would July be? So …’

  ‘So that’s wonderful,’ said Alice. ‘And I’d adore to be your matron of honour.’ And then added, looking panic-stricken. ‘What on earth does a matron of honour wear?’

  Every milestone made him more terrified, more amazed at what he had done. Getting properly involved with her. Realising how much he loved her. Telling her he loved her. Getting engaged to her. Celebrating it with that ridiculously excessive party. And now agreeing to a date. Why had he done this, why? Why hadn’t he listened to himself? He knew, of course: it was safety, the fading of the likelihood of discovery; respectability, a seal on his successful life.

  He had resisted talking to Ludo for a long time; it formalised the folly, let the daylight in. But finally, after a particularly demon-filled night, he sought him out, unloaded his fears, sought counsel. And Ludo had been wonderfully supportive, had held out for him, tantalisingly, the example of his own happy, fruitful marriage.

  ‘Honestly, Ned, marrying Cecily was the best thing I ever did. She’s such a sweetheart, and without blowing my own trumpet, I think I can say I’ve made her very happy. I adore the children – you can’t beat a family, for sheer, bloody contentment.’

  ‘No,’ said Ned. ‘I’m sure. But – did you want – I mean, did you …’

  ‘Of course,’ said Ludo. ‘Well, I loved her. I wanted to be married to her. I wanted to be married. So much.’

  ‘Yes, but –’

  ‘But if you really want to know, I was also in a bit of a pickle. I’d got a bit over-involved with a rotter. There was talk. He began to threaten me and I was extremely scared. I’d have lost my job, my friends, well, most of them. Nobody who hasn’t lived through that fear can possibly begin to imagine the total horror of it.’

  Ned, very soberly, said, ‘It’s all-consuming. It invades you. Fear not just of disgrace but the loss of everything you’ve got.’

  ‘Some people say they’re going to make a stand, and look what happens to them. End of a normal life. Unless they’re artists or actors. They seem to be all right. They have each other, they’re not sweating, alone, afraid to do anything in case it gives them away. There’s a sort of respectability all of its own. If you’re rich and famous like Cecil Beaton, fine. Society loves them, says what fun they are. Quite a cachet to have at cocktail parties and so on. But I’m a stockbroker, Ned. What would have happened to me? Clients all vanished. Off every hostess’s list. Probably have had to go and live abroad. My father would have insisted on that. Anyway, I chose Cecily. And it’s been marvellous. As it will be for you. Courage, old chap. You’re not mixed up with anyone dangerous, are you?’

  ‘No, no,’ said Ned. ‘I just – sometimes – still go to one of the clubs, you know. Practically throw up before and after, for fear someone sees me. Or knows me.’

  ‘Well, as long as it’s only the clubs. Not those pubs. They’re dangerous places.’

  ‘I know. But I need to feel I’m with my own kind. Just occasionally.’

  ‘Well, that’ll have to stop,’ said Ludo. ‘After you’re married.’

  ‘Of course. I know that.’ And then after a long, agonised silence: ‘So did you ever – ever have any of those treatments?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I did. Ghastly. You know how they work? They show you pictures of beautiful boys and then they give you an emetic first orally, then by injection. You’re not just sick, you feel ill, horrible, for hours, days. They do it again and again. Then, at bedtime, they give you an injection of testosterone and show you slides of attractive women. Again and again. They claim great success – ten out of twenty-five was one figure being bandied about. I honestly wouldn’t recommend it – it didn’t work for me. It was a loathsome experience, guaranteed to put you off sex for life. With anyone or thing.’

  ‘But you – you and Cecily –’

  ‘Look,’ said Ludo. ‘I love Cecily. I truly do. She is the centre of my life, she holds me together. I couldn’t live without her. I don’t find making love to her very difficult. She’s very attractive and I’ve always liked pretty women. The damnable thing about all this, the most damnable of all, is that what we are, different – it makes us criminals. Christ, when I think of other cri
minals who are considered on a par – murderers, paedophiles, men who beat up women – they’re probably thought preferable to us. At least they’re “normal”, in quotes. It’s too frightful.’

  Just talking about it with Ludo, in this normal civilised way, as if they were talking about the weather, made him feel infinitely better.

  ‘I mean, look at your situation, a doctor! Working with children, for Christ’s sake. You’d be done for in days if it became known. No one would trust you with their children. You’d almost certainly lose your consultancy; your hospital would sack you. Your life as a doctor would be over. You could even end up in jail. It’s so wrong. So desperately wrong.’

  ‘Those are all the things I’m afraid of,’ said Ned. ‘But hurting Jillie, most of all.’

  ‘Look,’ said Ludo. ‘You love Jillie, don’t you?’

  ‘I adore her,’ said Ned. ‘That’s why I’m so fearful for her, as much as me. How hurt she’d be, how used she’d feel. It seems wrong to expose her to that risk.’

  ‘I felt the same. It was a gamble. But it paid off, it was all right.’

  ‘Does she –? Well, does she know?’

  ‘If she does, it’s never been acknowledged. I think she knows something. But she doesn’t know. She’s very … innocent, led a very sheltered life.’

  ‘Which Jillie hasn’t,’ said Ned. ‘She’s about to become a doctor, her family are rich, bohemian Londoners. I don’t quite understand why one of them hasn’t suspected it at least.’

  ‘Well, they’re obviously broad-minded. They like you, clearly they love Jillie, and they trust her to know what she wants. Which is you. Lucky man. She’s gorgeous.’

  ‘I know she is, I know,’ said Ned almost fretfully. ‘And she’ll be a marvellous obstetrician.’

  ‘What a team!’ said Ludo, laughing. ‘Oh, go on, old chap. Stop agonising, marry the girl. Be happy with her. Have lots of sprogs. Powerful things, children. They bind you together as nothing else can. Now, I want to be your best man. I promise not to lose the ring, or leave you naked and drunk, padlocked to a tree, as Billy Francis did to poor old Dudley Buchanan. G and T?’

  ‘Of course you must be my best man,’ said Ned, taking the drink gratefully.

  But already the loathsome, duplicitous thoughts had begun. If there was ever talk about him, might not Ludo’s closeness to him, and the gossip around Ludo, begin again, feed people’s suspicions further? God, what a hideous world he was about to enter, with his bid for ‘normality’. Worse, in many ways, than the one where he lived now.

  It was the heat, of course. Exceptional for September. She was just terribly hot, she was not going to faint. And the noise. The peculiar mixture of sounds that define agricultural shows: the band, the instructions barked endlessly through the loudspeakers, cattle noise vying with horse noise. But she was fine. This was important, the first time she had been asked to actually participate in anything at the show; Johnathan was so proud of her, she couldn’t let him down.

  She had taken huge care with her appearance, and knew she was dressed exactly right: nothing showy, just a cream linen suit with the newly popular half hat in red; red shoes with modestly low, almost chunky heels; and red clutch bag. Every inch a Lady with a capital L.

  An hour later, as the last contestant went clear, she felt exhausted, and actually now rather sick, and asked if she could possibly have a chair. The afternoon stretched endlessly before her; maybe once she’d presented the cups, she would be able to leave.

  The president’s wife, Marjorie Harper, was walking towards her now, followed by some minions bearing a table and a large number of silver cups. God, so many: did she have to present them all? She really did feel rather odd. Hang on, Diana, hang on. Deep breaths.

  Johnathan still didn’t know. She had somehow kept it from him, she wasn’t sure why – buying time, she supposed, while she decided what to do. It was no clearer now what that was than the first day she had suspected the whole dreadful nightmare.

  The president’s wife was speaking now, about her she realised: ‘Mrs Gunning, whose husband Johnathan has played such a crucial part in the development of the show, will now present the cups to the winners of the Under Thirteens, the Under Fourteens and the Under Twelves. Mrs Gunning …’

  There was clapping but it was rather odd clapping, coming in waves, the sound receding and advancing; Diana stood up, smiled at Mrs Harper, picked up the first cup, which seemed inordinately heavy, and began to speak. Then the ground began to sway and lurch beneath her feet and with infinite grace, she crumpled, sank onto the ground, somehow managing to hang onto the cup as people helped lay her out straight, proffered folded jackets as pillows, and a loudspeaker asked for St John’s to come over to the collecting ring. Then suddenly Johnathan was there, looking down at her with such infinite and kind concern, and he knelt beside her, and she said, ‘So sorry, Johnathan, so sorry, but I’m pregnant.’ Then she was on the stretcher, being borne away from the field and the shame and the remorse of the whole dreadful disaster, and into the St John’s tent.

  Only it wasn’t a disaster, for as she sat cautiously up, sipping some rather lukewarm sweet tea, Johnathan appeared, with a beacon-like smile, and even as she stammered out an apology he said, ‘Darling, don’t keep apologising, it’s marvellous news. Pity you didn’t tell me before, but nobody really minds at all. Now finish that tea, and I’ll take you home in about ten minutes.’

  At home, he was tender and solicitous, touched by her explanation that she had been waiting for the three months ‘safety ground’ and for the doctor to give her absolute assurance, lest it prove to be a false alarm. She didn’t want to disappoint him.

  ‘It’s marvellous,’ he said again. ‘Absolutely bloody marvellous. Maybe this time, we’ll have a girl. Not that I mind which, of course,’ he added hastily.

  Yes, a little girl with blonde curls and green eyes, Diana thought, wincing at this rather clear vision; but then she forced it out of her head again. She would just have to find some blonde relative in her family whose genes had suddenly surfaced. Meanwhile, she must take the happiness on offer and make the very most of it. This new little person would have to work hard, to console her from what she would be missing: no modelling for a year at least, no trips to London, no Paris. As the strain of the day added to her general distress, she started to cry. She excused herself, saying she was overemotional – it was her hormones, and if Johnathan didn’t mind she was going to have a little rest; then she went up to her bedroom and wept for hours.

  Chapter 28

  1951

  It really was rather awful being pregnant. Once the first rapture was over, Alice continued to be sick every day, and to feel exhausted and bone weary all the time. She felt ashamed and inadequate, having been assured by Tom from day one that she was about to feel better and more energetic than she ever had in her entire life – clearly Laura had bloomed like some prize rose bush – and managed somehow, by the time he came home, to appear smiling and healthy, to pretend she was enjoying the meal she had cooked, although it made her feel desperately sick, and to show great interest and enthusiasm for any news he had.

  The election was called for October, partly as a result of the King’s poor health. He had had a lung removed and was an extremely sick man; he was about to embark on a trip to the Commonwealth, and he feared for the effect on the country of an election in his absence, and wanted matters settled before he left.

  The Conservatives, with their slogan of ‘Britain Strong and Free’, and many new fresh faces, were able to present youth and promise.

  Tom worked very hard during those few months, assisting the local MP any way he could, not merely with the promised envelope stuffing and poster deliveries, but preparing halls for meetings, sweeping floors, setting out chairs, and more than once manning the great tea urns, so integral a part of parish and political life. He did a great deal on election day of that process known as ‘knocking up’ – knocking on doors as it drew towards evening and try
ing to ensure the people behind had voted. He attended the count, but as morning broke, the Conservatives had won by a majority of seventeen. The Old Bulldog was still in power.

  ‘I’m sorry but I do want to have this baby in Welbeck Street, under Sir Harold’s care.’ Diana looked at Johnathan across the supper table. ‘I know that didn’t quite work out last time, but I still feel I was incredibly lucky then and Sir Harold makes me feel safe.’

  She had expected Johnathan to protest, but he was so happy these days about the baby that he simply smiled at her and said, ‘Of course. I completely understand. And this time, hopefully, I’ll be able to be there. Not actually at your side, of course, but very near at hand –’

  ‘Oh, Johnathan, you’re so sweet,’ said Diana, ‘and thank you. But there really isn’t any need.’

  The image of herself holding the newly born blonde green-eyed baby, desperately claiming a blonde green-eyed great-great-grandmother while Johnathan’s joy turned to suspicion, swam into her head.

  ‘Darling, this new little one is more important than anything on the farm. Now make the arrangements as soon as possible. Have you told your mother yet? I presume you’ll be staying with her?’

  ‘Yes, of course, and she’s thrilled. I will be staying with her.’ The very thought of being with her family, near London and her friends, made her feel quite dizzy with happiness. ‘Johnathan, you’re an angel. And thank you.’

  ‘Nothing to thank me for, I just want you to feel as safe and happy as you can. Now I’d quite like an early night, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Of course. I think I’ll listen to the wireless for a bit. There’s a marvellous serialisation of one of Angela Thirkell’s novels, being read by Dulcie Gray.’