‘But that’s jolly rare,’ said Nell. ‘Usually you’re a genius at it.’
‘No more than you are at your writing,’ said Julius, smiling at her.
How sweet they were, Jillie thought. Totally in love. Lucky, lucky them.
‘Well, you must tell us more about it later. My mother loves deco, especially Clarice Cliff, in fact she’s got a complete tea set –’
‘My God,’ said Julius. ‘Really? Not – not in the crocus design?’
‘Not sure. We can go and look later, it’s in a cabinet in the morning room.’
‘I’d love that.’
‘You would, wouldn’t you?’ said Nell. ‘Gosh, we didn’t expect this, both of us so lucky.’
‘I hope you’ll go on thinking so,’ said Jillie. ‘Tell me, Nell, who is your publisher?’
‘Well,’ she said, rather reluctantly, ‘at the moment I’m between publishers.’ She blushed, and then giggled rather self-consciously. ‘Which actually means I haven’t got one – quite. But I have got a very good agent.’
‘That’s more than half the battle,’ said Josh. The evening was working out rather better than he had expected. So far anyway. He hadn’t seen Jillie so animated for a very long time.
‘She’ll find you someone soon,’ said Julius. ‘You’re so good.’
‘Well, let’s go in to dinner, and you can tell me about it, the plot and so on,’ Jillie said, thinking that this mutual adoration society could quite quickly get boring.
‘Wonderful,’ said Nell. ‘Can I help, Josh?’ He was gathering glasses together, overloading the tray rather dangerously. They disappeared towards the kitchen.
Jillie stood up and smiled at Julius. She felt odd, being alone with him. As if it was dangerous. How stupid. But he clearly felt it too; the easy relaxation had gone, and he was obviously thinking rather wildly of something to say. Finally, he managed to remark on the beauty of their garden.
‘And so big.’
‘Yes, we’re very lucky. Or rather they are, I really shouldn’t be here at all, bit old to be living at home but I’ve only just passed my finals. Now I have to find some hospital that will have me. I’m doing a locum at the moment.’
‘You can’t stay where you’ve trained?’
‘No, sadly not. They only keep about one student each year, and she has to be outstanding. I’m not. And Miss Moran, the big white chief surgeon, has taken against me, unfortunately. I’m not very good and I irritate her.’
There was a silence. Then Julius said, ‘I can’t imagine anyone being irritated by you.’ He spoke very seriously, presenting the opinion not as a meaningless compliment, but something he needed to say.
‘Well,’ said Jillie, ‘I am a bit nervous and clumsy, and those are two things surgeons absolutely cannot be. And – well, I missed a lot last year, about six weeks altogether.’
‘Were you ill?’
‘Sort of – let’s go in, shall we?’
‘Sorry,’ he said, looking stricken, sensing a forbidden territory. ‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to cross-question you –’
‘No, no, it’s fine. Honestly. You weren’t,’ she said, flustered on his behalf. ‘Come on, hope you’re hungry …’
They were finally gone; she felt exhausted. Nell’s questions had been predictable, easy to answer – yes, it was a man’s world, surgery, you had to prove yourself twice as good as they were; no, the worst hostility tended to come not from the other doctors, you just had to flirt with them. Jillie didn’t exactly like her – she was quite outstandingly self-confident – but her questions were well thought through, and she seemed genuinely eager to learn.
Jillie did ask them when they planned to get married and Nell said, ‘Oh, next spring soonest – so much to arrange, isn’t there, darling? We’ve actually only just got engaged.’
Jillie offered her congratulations, then asked Julius if he would like to see the Clarice Cliff tea service in its cabinet and he stood there, gazing at it, his face very solemn, and then turned to her with his brilliant smile, and said, ‘Thank you so much. It’ s – well, it’s wonderful. Wonderful things.’
He sounded rather like Harold Carter, confronted by the tomb of Tutankhamun for the first time, as reverent and as astonished.
‘It’s been the most wonderful evening,’ he said, his brown eyes very serious on hers. ‘I’ve loved it. You’ve been wonderful to Nell –’
‘Not at all. And congratulations again on your engagement.’
And may you never know, she thought, the tears back behind her eyes, the misery of it not ending as you think it will.
Lying in bed, wide awake, she felt disturbed, confused even. Julius had done odd things to her; made her feel – goodness, what had he made her feel? Aware, she realised finally, for the first time for many months, aware of herself, as if she mattered, indeed as if anything at all mattered. For so long, she had plodded dutifully along: working, because it was the only thing to do, while not caring too much what the outcome was; being pleasant to people, while feeling no interest in them whatsoever, while avoiding them indeed whenever she could; holding herself back, locking her emotions away as things not to be trusted, not released. Julius, with his intense enthusiasms, his untidy charm, had broken into her passivity, had made her want to know more of him, more of what he thought and enjoyed and disliked and desired. She felt for him, in the purest sense, felt herself involved by the charm, the enthusiasm, the way he dressed, the way he talked, the way he was.
But he was not hers to be explored, to be sought out, investigated: he belonged to Nell. He was forbidden, dangerous territory and disturb her as he might, she had no option but to turn her back on him and walk away.
Chapter 42
Jillie didn’t actually ever intend to go in, of course. That was intensely out of character. It was a pretty little gem of a shop in the King’s Road, the big window filled with deco wonders. Jillie noticed it before she saw the sign over the door that said Noble Antiques. She was looking for a birthday present for her mother, and felt she might have found it in a beautiful marble and bronze clock, a full-breasted winged lady stretched out above the face, and would have gone straight in had she not seen the sign. Whereupon she was seized with ridiculous shyness, that Julius might think she was pursuing him – though why should she, him being practically married. But she had not been able to quite forget her reaction to him as he took her hand, a month ago at least now, the warmth, the increased intensity of colours and sounds …
Inside it was literally a treasure trove, of cabinets that were lovely in themselves, some mirrored, filled with china and pottery, of clocks ranged along several shelves, of statues, chairs, tables, dressing tables, of sets of hairbrushes and combs and hand-held looking glasses, of pretty limpid lamps with great fringed shades. She stood there, smiling, Julius quite forgotten, thinking this would solve the birthday problem not just today but for many years to come. There were footsteps and Nell stood in front of her, looking – well, clearly not suspicious, for how could she be, but not entirely welcoming.
‘Oh, hello,’ she said, and her light, pretty voice seemed to have developed a new edge. ‘How nice to see you. I was so grateful for your help, my agent said that chapter was the best in my draft – and I’m sorry, you just missed Julius, he’s gone dashing off to see some woman in Surrey.’
‘It’s not Julius at all,’ said Jillie. ‘I’m looking for a present for my mother and I noticed the clock in the window, the marble one, the lady with wings –’
‘Oh, yes, I liked that. I was hoping Julius would give it to me, but –’
‘Oh, well, in that case,’ said Jillie, ‘forget it. He’s probably intending to give it to you. There’s plenty of other lovely stuff here. What about that dressing table, how much is that?’
‘I haven’t the faintest idea,’ said Nell, ‘but I can find out for you, everything’s listed in this book. Let’s see, dressing table, well, sixty pounds, but hasn’t she got a dressing table?’ And Ji
llie said yes, yes, of course she had, but she would love to have this instead – and it was extremely charming, a semicircle of bright polished oak, with three circular mirrors, one large and central, the other two on either side of the curve. How displeased her mother would be, presented with such a dressing table, for she was fond of the one she owned which had been her grandmother’s, but that displeasure could hardly measure up to Nell’s, still clearly hostile. ‘So, yes, I might take that, or rather buy it. Do you deliver?’
‘Of course,’ said Nell. ‘Goodness, what a lovely present, lucky her. Well, look, I’ll tell Julius you were here.’
‘But only because of the shop,’ said Jillie firmly and then thought she must sound at least half mad, for why else should she be in the shop, if it was not to pursue Julius, which of course she was not.
‘You can write a cheque and he’ll arrange the delivery. When is the birthday, by the way?’
‘Next month,’ said Jillie. She really could not afford sixty pounds, especially for something she didn’t want, nor her mother either. ‘So if you could have it delivered at the weekend, that’d be wonderful, because they’re away –’
‘Oh, I’m afraid I can’t possibly say,’ said Nell. ‘Deliveries are nothing to do with me, I’m only sitting in as a favour, but I’ll leave a note for Delia, the girl who usually does it.’
‘Oh. Yes, well, thank you, Nell, that’s really kind, gosh, I must fly. Give my – my regards to Julius, won’t you?’
‘Yes, of course. So glad we could help you. And thank you again for your help to me.’
Then she ushered Jillie to the door of the shop, rather firmly, as if fearing she might stay any longer. And Jillie walked away down the King’s Road towards Sloane Square, feeling foolish, cheated and depressed.
Tom was trying to make up his mind quite how he was going to deal with Diana. He could never see her again, of course – but he had to tell her and didn’t quite know how. A phone call seemed rather casual, a letter could be ignored. So maybe he did have to go and see her. But when? And where? A visit would be dangerous: he didn’t trust himself to resist her. The sex had been extraordinary, beyond anything he had ever known. He kept reliving it in his mind and at times at unsuitable moments.
He wished with all his heart he hadn’t had sex with her. He liked being her friend, he liked her, he liked being with her, she was funny and fun, and he loved just looking at her. Tom appreciated style; and he didn’t get much of it at the moment. Caring for small children left precious little energy for adding a bold necklace or tying a scarf in a particular way to make a dress stand out. Of course he didn’t blame Alice, but he missed it. The friendship with Diana had supplied it in spades. Now he’d spoilt all that, broken the spell, changed the friendship into something dangerous and forbidden that had to be ended.
Diana had decided that she really didn’t like him at all. She had been charmed by him at first, glad he had been seated next to her as he was charming and attentive, and very good-looking.
They were at the St Luke’s Hospital ball, and had a really very nice table: Ned, of course, looking divinely handsome; Persephone and her boyfriend George Tilbury, a nice old buffer, handsome and with very nice manners; Wendelien and Ian Bellinger; Ludo and Cecily Manners; and one of the sisters from the hospital – there was a representative on every table – who was more beautiful and more charming than any sister had a right to be, called Anna Fitzwarren. The young man she had decided didn’t like, Ned’s registrar Philip Harrington, was another representative of the hospital. His father, Sir Digby Harrington, was on the board of governors of the hospital, and a distinguished surgeon himself.
Diana had taken enormous trouble over her appearance – partly because she liked the stir she caused, partly because she wanted Ned to admire her. She had borrowed a dress from Hardy Amies – one of the perks of her trade – it was red silk, with a great swooping skirt spilling from a tiny waist, and a particularly daring bodice, skin tight but parting just above the cleavage line, thus empasising her lovely breasts, and lest they might be missed, further embellished with gold and silver embroidery.
She had arrived on Ned’s arm, swathed in a great white fox stole, her hair swept up in a chignon, her make-up bold: heavy black eyeliner and brilliant red lipstick. She was at least six inches taller than any other woman in the room, partly because of a pair of four-inch heels endowed by Rayne. So lovely did she look, there was no one, male or female, in the room who did not stop whatever they were doing to stare at her. As she bent to kiss Persephone, who was already at the table, the staring focused on her breasts which threatened – or was it promised? – to spill out of their embroidered casing.
‘My darling, how beautiful you look,’ Persephone cried. ‘Ned, doesn’t she look just too, too amazing?’
And Ned, playing up to Diana’s game for once, said, ‘Truly amazing, yes.’ He looked her quite openly up and down before kissing her hand and settling her in her seat.
Philip Harrington had arrived rather rudely late, Diana thought. In her book, if you were to attend so glittering an affair, you made sure to get away hours before necessary. Then she chided herself as she shook out her napkin and smiled graciously at him. Perhaps registrars did not possess such powers over their lives. But she noticed that Sister Anna Fitzwarren had clearly made note of the late arrival and her eyebrows rose on her aristocratic forehead just for a moment. Good, thought Diana. He would suffer for it in the days to come.
But after that Philip made a great effort to be agreeable and charming, signalling to the waiter more than once that her glass was in need of refilling, or her napkin needed retrieving, having slithered yet again off the great expanse of her skirt.
It was quite far into the evening that he said it; dancing had begun and Diana was much in demand, first with Ned, to establish her position as guest of honour on his table, then Persephone’s beau, who had a rather showy style that amused her. And then of course Ian Bellinger and Ludo Manners; she was just sitting down, breathless and laughing, when Philip Harrington joined her.
‘I was going to ask you if you would do me the honour of dancing with me,’ he said, ‘but I can see you would rather sit this one out.’
‘I would indeed, and thank you for that piece of perception. What a wonderful occasion this is, isn’t it? Are you enjoying it?’
‘Oh, very much,’ he said.
‘And how long have you worked at St Luke’s?’
‘Oh, I got my job, as it’s called, a position at a hospital—’
‘Yes, I do know,’ said Diana coolly. ‘My brother is a consultant at the London and of course I’ve known Ned all my life, so I’m familiar with medical terminology.’
‘Well, I got my job here just about six months ago.’
‘And – you like it?’
‘Oh, very much. Paediatrics is quite a new field, but one I’m very interested in, and some of Mr Welles’s work is quite pioneering. So I’m very fortunate and appreciate it.’
‘Good. And your father works here, I believe.’
‘Yes, he’s over there,’ said Philip Harrington, indicating a stout, red-faced man dancing a rather inexpert foxtrot with a woman who would clearly have wished to be partnering almost anyone else in the room. ‘Would you like to meet him? I’m sure he’d be delighted to be introduced.’
‘Yes,’ said Diana bravely, thinking only of Ned and that this entire evening was, as far as she was concerned, in his best interests and to further his career and also to develop their friendship just a little. ‘Yes, I would very much. Thank you.’
Sir Digby proved exactly as she might have expected: pompous, overbearing and none too bright. Until her brother had qualified she had assumed doctors must all be brilliant people, but he had assured her they were not. ‘Everyone hero-worships them because they have the power of life and death in their hands, but honestly, it’s not a difficult subject, medicine, it’s all facts. You need a good memory and a facility to apply what you know to th
e case in hand.’
‘Well, I must be getting back to my table,’ she said as soon as she possibly could. ‘Mr Welles’s mother is on her own.’
‘Ah, is that who she is?’ said Sir Digby. ‘Pretty woman; I believe there was some scandal, long ago of course. Welles seems very devoted to her. Not many men would bring their mother to such an event, but then she does seem most delightful.’ And then, ‘Welles has never married, has he?’ said Harrington, with a suddenness that shocked her.
‘No, not yet. He was about to, about a year back, but it was broken off. In fact, I planned to marry him myself when I was very young. We were childhood sweethearts.’ May God forgive me, she thought, or rather Ned …
‘Did you, by Jove. So what changed your mind?’
‘Oh – common sense, I would say, on his part. I was only nineteen. But so much in love.’
‘And – is your husband here tonight? I see you are married.’ He nodded at the wedding ring and huge diamond on her left hand.
‘No, sadly, we’re divorced.’
‘Oh – pity. Now look, I see that Mrs Welles is dancing again and this is one of my favourites.’ The band had struck up with the old Astaire song ‘The Way You Look Tonight’. ‘Don’t suppose you’d do me the honour, would you?’
‘Of course,’ she said, summoning her warmest smile. Put up with it, Diana, stay friends with this one, it’s important.
She survived – just – then made her excuses and allowed him to lead her back to the table, where Philip Harrington was sitting alone. He stood up, pulled back a chair for her.
‘Hello. Hello, Father. Having a good time?’
‘Delightful, quite delightful. Goodnight for now at least, Mrs –?’
‘Gunning,’ said Diana. ‘Goodnight and thank you for the dance.’
‘My pleasure entirely. My regards to Welles. Tell him we’re very pleased with his work here, especially the new stuff.’
‘Shall we dance?’ said Philip Harrington.
A Question of Trust Page 39
