‘Oh, all right,’ he said. ‘Very small whisky. Very small.’
It wasn’t small, of course; and once it had hit him, he found himself telling her more and more, the fact that family life was pretty much hell, and that Alice seemed completely indifferent to his political success.
‘I need someone to really support me, come to meetings and dinners, that sort of thing. And she – well, she can’t. Not at the moment.’
‘Because?’
‘Because she’s so exhausted. And tied to the children.’
‘You could get a nanny,’ said Diana.
‘Don’t be silly, Diana. Would-be Labour MPs, especially the disciples of people like Bevan, don’t have nannies.’
‘I bet they do. Well, can’t help, I’m afraid. I suppose I could come to the dinners and stuff with you.’ She grinned. ‘Only joking. Oh, Tom, I’m so sorry.’
‘Well, it’s not the end of the world.’
‘No, but I can see it hurts.’ She got up from the sofa. ‘Another whisky?’
‘No, thank you. I’ll have to be going soon.’
‘Why? No rush as far as I’m concerned.’
‘No, but I don’t suppose she’s asleep. Probably getting worried. I was angry when I left, and there were a lot of slammed doors. Not very husbandly behaviour.’
She sat down on the sofa again, rather closer to him than before.
‘It doesn’t sound to me as if she’s being very wifely. Don’t suppose there’s much sex either, in spite of what her dad says.’
‘Well – you know,’ said Tom, reaching for his empty glass.
‘Yes, I do know. Actually, I’m quite with her there, I have to say. After a baby everything hurts and you’re exhausted and –’
‘Yes. I know all that, of course. Which is why it’s so bad of me.’
‘To want it? Of course not. It’s entirely natural. You’re too hard on yourself, Friend Tom.’ She leaned forward and kissed him: just on the cheek. ‘Well, if it’s any comfort, I am hugely proud to know you and of what you’ve done. I really am. It’s taken a long time, and a lot of work. It’s a bit like modelling, in a way. It looks so easy, just standing in front of a pillar or something, wearing a nice dress. Nobody knows about the boredom of a lot of it, doing the same thing over and over and over again, or of smiling until your face twitches, or longing to pee and not being allowed to move for hours. That’s very like an election, I should have thought.’
‘A bit,’ said Tom, smiling at the absurdity of the comparison.
‘Anyway, I mustn’t keep you. I can see you’re feeling remorseful. With absolutely no reason, I’d say. But please come again. I’d love to see you any time. Come and let me give you a hug …’
She stood up, held out her hand to pull him up.
‘Dear Tom. I hate to see you so unhappy. Ooh – gosh, nearly fell over.’ And she collapsed back onto the sofa, laughing.
That did it. She knew it would.
His arms were round her, his mouth on hers; she remembered thinking that if the sex was anything like the kissing, it would be astonishing.
It was absolutely astonishing. She could never remember feeling such excitement, such aching desire, such desperation to be touched, stroked, explored, entered. She was taken through new boundaries that night, scaled new heights, rose and fell from those heights in a glorious cycle, reaching, reaching for the pinnacle, and when she was finally there, triumphant, shouting with the pleasure of it. She was slowly, slowly sinking into peace when she smiled at Tom, and said, ‘What a good friend you are, dear Tom.’
And Tom, stricken, terrified at what he had done, said, ‘Diana, I must go. I really must.’
It was hardly a romantic finale but she didn’t mind. She had finally accomplished her mission, that of seducing Tom Knelston, and it had been glorious, and gloriously requited, she knew. He would be back. She was sure he would be back.
And Tom, while vowing as he sat in the cab that he would never go back, knew it was more than probable; and even if he didn’t, a boundary had been crossed, and he had stepped into another country – a dangerous country from which there could be no return, no matter how much he wished it and however hard he struggled to find a way.
Chapter 40
1955
‘Jillie? It’s Josh.’
Jillie promptly felt irritated. Josh was most unlikely to be inviting her out in the accepted sense, could only have two other reasons for ringing her. One, an obligatory attempt to cheer her up; two, a desire to pick her brains over some article he was writing. She wasn’t sure which of the two options was less attractive and decided it was the cheering-up one.
It turned out to be a curious combination of both.
‘Hello, Josh,’ she said cautiously. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘Well,’ he said. ‘I wondered if you’d like an evening out. Next week.’
‘Josh, darling,’ said Jillie, ‘it’s very sweet of you but the answer is absolutely not, thank you all the same. I much prefer my own company just at the moment.’
‘No, no,’ said Josh. ‘I have no intention of trying to cheer you up or anything ghastly. No, friend of mine from Oxford, haven’t seen him for years, name of Julius Noble –’
‘What a wonderful name.’
‘I suppose it is. Anyway, I bumped into him the other day, as you do, and I want to ask you a favour. On Julius’s behalf.’
‘I hope it’s not too onerous. I’m so tired I can’t concentrate on anything. I’m doing a locum at St Mary’s, Paddington while I try and find a job, never worked so hard in my life. Tell me what it is before I say I will.’
‘I don’t think it will be onerous. It might take an hour or so.’
‘An hour will be all right. Not so sure about the “so”. Anyway, what is it?’
‘Julius has a fiancée. Nice girl. She was with him. She’s a writer. And she wants to talk to you about being a surgeon.’
‘A writer! Goodness, how grand. I feel quite nervous already.’
‘Don’t be silly, half the famous writers in England have been to your house. It’s she who should be nervous. Actually, her books are quite silly. Love stories, you know.’
‘Is she famous? What’s her name?’
‘Eleanor, but everyone calls her Nell. Eleanor Henderson. She’s not famous, she’s only had a couple of books published. She wants to know how scary your first operation is, what an operating theatre looks like, who’s in charge. Oh, and what it’s like being a woman surgeon – she’s very interested in that. I’d be awfully grateful.’
‘All right,’ she said. ‘I can’t do it next week, because I’m doing nights, but the following week I can. Why don’t you all come here? Mummy won’t mind and actually, I think they’re away then.’
‘Well, that’s very kind,’ said Josh. ‘Give me a date and I know they’ll fit in with you.’
She had put the phone down when she realised she hadn’t asked what Julius did. Or what he was like. Why had she agreed to this? When she really didn’t have time and she hated meeting new people? Oh, well: too late now. It was only one evening, after all.
Loud screams filled the corridors; Ned, who had been on his way home, dropped his briefcase and ran towards the children’s ward. He found a complete lack of concern among the nursing staff: two probationers were giggling, Staff Nurse Lambert was writing a report.
He glared at her. ‘What on earth is going on in here?’
‘No need for alarm, Mr Welles. Just Joanna Brigstock, making a fuss.’
‘She must be screaming about something. She’s had a tonsillectomy, it leaves them in a lot of pain the first few days.’
‘She’d had a bad dream. That’s all. Nurse Wallace is with her now, trying to settle her. She’ll have all the other children awake if we’re not careful.’
‘I’ll go and see her.’
‘Mr Welles, she’s far better left with Nurse—’
Ned walked through the ward, the children asleep for the
most part. Joanna Brigstock was weeping silently now, tears rolling down her flushed little face. A nurse stood looking down at her rather helplessly. Ned smiled at her. ‘Don’t worry, nurse, I’ll take over.’
‘But Staff told me to settle her. I don’t think she’d like you doing it.’
‘You can stop worrying about her too,’ said Ned. ‘I’ll take the blame for anything either she or Sister don’t like. I’m quite brave.’ He grinned at her. ‘Off you go. Now,’ he said, sitting down on the bed, smiling at the small Joanna. ‘Crying’s not allowed in my ward. What’s the matter? Can I help?’
She shook her head and turned away from him, stifling the sobs.
‘Joanna,’ said Ned, ‘it’s bad for your poor throat to cry. It needs you to be asleep, resting it.’
Silence.
‘Is it very sore?’
She nodded, still not looking at him.
‘How about a little tiny bit of ice cream? Do you think that might help?’
Ice cream was on the menu for all tonsillectomy patients; so was jelly. She turned her head on the pillow, nodded, half smiled.
‘I’ll be back.’
He made his way to the kitchen, took a small tub of ice cream from the big fridge, found a spoon and was just leaving when the night sister appeared.
‘Is there anything I can do for you, Mr Welles?’
‘No, no, Sister, thank you. Everything seems in excellent order.’
‘I see.’ She looked rather pointedly at the tub of ice cream. Ned smiled at her.
‘Joanna Brigstock’s obviously in pain. I thought a bit of ice cream might help.’
‘Mr Welles, this is hardly the time for a child to be given such food. We don’t want her vomiting. And if the other children wake up, they’ll all want it.’
‘I don’t think either of those things will happen. If they do, I promise I’ll deal with it. And I think a little ice cream combined with a bit of attention would help Joanna.’
‘Very well.’ She sighed heavily, clearly envisaging disasters on an apocalyptic scale. ‘If you insist. Give it to me.’ She held out her hand. ‘I’ll get one of the probationers to feed her.’
‘No, no, I’ll give it to her. Something’s troubling her. I’d like to talk to her.’
‘Very well,’ said Sister again, her face etched with disapproval. A consultant, feeding a child! It was most unsuitable. But Mr Welles was renowned for his slightly odd behaviour. There was much gossip about him in the nurses’ room, she knew, particularly about his film-star looks, and the fact that he was not yet married.
One theory was that he had had his heart broken in his youth and never loved anyone else; another that a much adored fiancée had died.
‘Or maybe,’ one girl had said, ‘he’ s – you know, one of those.’
‘He couldn’t be. He’s a consultant. That’s impossible.’
‘Oh, I don’t know. I’ve heard the most ordinary, normal people are that way,’ said someone else. ‘They just keep it covered up.’
‘Hardly normal.’
‘Well, you know what I mean. Mind you, I think—’
‘We are not interested in what you think, Nurse Brown.’ It was Sister’s voice, cutting through the chatter. She had clearly heard every word. ‘I would like the subject changed and not raised again. And since you clearly have too much time on your hands, you can do the napkin round.’
‘Right,’ said Ned now, to the small Joanna, putting the ice cream tub into her hot little hands. ‘Tell me what the matter is. And what’s this?’ He pointed to the bundle of blanket she was clutching.
‘I’m pretending it’s Teddy. They took him away.’
‘Who took him away?’
‘The nurses,’ she said, her voice shaky. ‘They said I might get blood on him. And I need him. I haven’t got Mummy or Daddy – Teddy was instead. Sort of.’
‘Well, in a minute I’ll go and find him for you and make sure it doesn’t happen again. Now, how is that throat feeling?’
‘Much better.’
Ned left the hospital with a heavy heart. The encounter with Joanna Brigstock and its implications had upset him. Every day he became more distressed by the grief caused to the children. He felt that children needed their parents more than ever when they were ill. As for depriving them of their teddies – that was appalling. Night Sister had handed over Joanna’s most reluctantly.
Something close to a lovers’ meeting had taken place between Joanna and Teddy, who was sweet faced, blind in one eye, hugged almost bald. She had clutched him to her, covering him with kisses, and then had laid down, cuddling him under the bedclothes, and was asleep in five minutes. It was, Ned supposed, a victory for his views, but it would take many such to see them taken seriously.
Nevertheless, each day saw him more determined to make that happen: no matter what cost to him.
Chapter 41
The morning of the dinner with Josh and his friends was supremely beautiful, the sun breaking slowly and gently through the early drifting mist, soaking up the heavy dew; the tops of the trees ghostly pale; the shrubs below still a young, fresh green. Jillie, leaning out of her bedroom window, smiled at it, and blew it a kiss, a rather fanciful trick of her mother’s when confronted by any particularly glorious view, and hoped it would be a good omen for the evening.
Her parents were indeed away; she had told Mrs Hemmings to poach a small salmon, and to serve it with baby new potatoes from the vegetable garden, or rather the useful garden as her father always called it, and summer pudding for dessert. She could never do wine, so when he arrived, considerately early, Josh was dispatched to her father’s cellar to choose. He came up fifteen minutes later, looking rather dazed. ‘That is a real treasure trove he’s got down there. Anyway, I’ve found a really nice white burgundy, and a Sauternes to go with the summer pudding. I’ve put them in the fridge. Lucky people, getting all this.’
‘Well, let’s have a cocktail in the morning room, shall we, before they arrive. Something really easy like, like Bellinis,’ she said, reminded painfully only when Josh arrived with the jug of peach juice and the bottle of champagne that Bellinis were the drink she and Ned had always had on special occasions. No longer the wild grief, just – joylessness in everything.
Too late now, though; she took her Bellini, smiled at Josh and drank it with reckless speed. It would help: it had to.
She was just slightly tipsy when the car scrunched on the gravel; just enough to be a tiny bit dizzy, and – she could feel it – flushed. She stayed in the morning room, while Josh let them in. Nell came in first – pretty, brown-haired, with a dimpled smile – holding out her hand, saying how kind of Jillie this was; and then Julius appeared from behind her.
She told herself it was the Bellini, on top of her exhaustion, that did it – the sweet shock of something, a slight unsteadiness as the ground seemed to shift in some odd way, a sense of recognition of something, rather than someone, something promising, something warm, something confusing. She took his proffered hand, put her own into it, rather than shook it, then said, ‘You are so welcome,’ in response to his echo of Nell’s gratitude, and meant it. Never was any moment, any fragment of time, more welcome.
He was tall and slim, with brown eyes and rather wild dark hair; his natural expression was serious, but when he smiled it was like a child’s, a sudden brilliant expression of delight. He wore very nice clothes, which she liked – Ned had always looked marvellous, but conventionally so. Julius was more avant-garde – dressed in a very nice suit, the jacket a little longer, more waisted, than would have been considered the norm. His shirt was white silk, his blue tie almost cravat wide, tied in the loose ‘Windsor knot’, and his shoes brogues in style, but in very soft, light brown leather. Had Diana Southcott been present, she could have explained that his was the perfect personal interpretation of the Edwardian look that was so fashionable for men, expressed at its extreme by the Teddy Boys with their greased quiffed hair, their over-tight trousers, th
eir narrow leather ties; Jillie only liked the fact that he looked unusually stylish, and had clearly given some consideration to how he dressed for the occasion. She wished promptly that she had gone to more trouble herself than the blue fine wool shirtwaister she had dragged irritably from her wardrobe.
Nell’s dress, which she had not taken in before, was, she noticed also rather irritably, quite special: a shirtwaister too, to be sure, but in green and white spotted silk, with long, very full sleeves, gathered on the shoulders and then caught in at the wrist.
Then she wondered why she cared so much what any of them was wearing. She offered them Bellinis, smiling graciously at their admiration of the house, and again at her hospitality, and said, ‘I don’t know how much help I can be to you, Nell, but I’ll try.’
Nell said, ‘The thing is, I do take my research terribly seriously, and hate getting things wrong.’
’Quite right,’ said Jillie. ‘Well, I’ll try not to let you down.’
‘Thank you.’
And then, feeling she had done enough for her for a moment or two, turned to Julius and said, ‘And Julius, what do you do?’
‘I’m an antiques dealer.’
‘How perfectly lovely. What fun.’
‘Yes, it is. Some of the time, anyway.’
‘And – do you specialise in any particular period?’
‘Yes, deco mostly. It’s coming back in, fortunately for me, especially the ceramics, and of course the bronze pieces, the borzois—’
‘He is terribly knowledgeable about it,’ said Nell, just a little automatically. ‘And he can tell repro from real just with the briefest glance.’
‘Darling, not really,’ said Julius. ‘I often make mistakes, actually,’ he said, turning back to Jillie, laughing at himself. ‘Terrible one the other day, paid over twenty guineas for something worth ten shillings.’
A Question of Trust Page 38
