With an audible click, the curtains started to open, the Pathé News’s crowing cockerel projected on the last of the rippling material.
The first piece showed the Queen Mary docking at Southampton and a famous American film star coming down the gangway lost in a huge, silver fox fur. She was to stay at the Ritz before attending a society wedding.
The next item was the launch of a new warship at Clyde Bank by His Majesty King George VI. A bottle of champagne broke on the bow as the ship started to glide towards the water. Tom was fascinated by the huge chains dragging behind the hull, breaking its speed of entry into the water.
The scenes of cheering crowds, of men in cloth caps waving union jacks, were accompanied by a stirring commentary that the Empire relied on the safe conduct of its mercantile marine.
The bulletin concluded with the latest football news, players running around on foggy pitches; the black and white film making it difficult to know which team was which, and then the cockerel was marking the end of the news. The flickering light from the projector caught the rising clouds of smoke from cigarettes as people lit up before the main feature film came on.
Hesitantly Tom put his arm across the back of her seat letting it lightly touch Fay, enough for her to know it was there. As the beautiful Carole Lombard came into view she snuggled up nearer him and he dropped his arm around her. It was all so unbelievable. He had never felt so good.
She was just a natural, beautiful girl, and with a spirit that made her fun to be with. And for the first time in his life he felt complete, as though up until then he hadn’t been truly alive.
With Tom she felt at ease, his arm around her shoulders was both protective and cosy, not in any way oppressive or threatening. And he was, it seemed strange to say it, a friend. Someone she could talk to – like another self.
But there was something else, a physical attraction that had stirred her blood the moment she had set eyes on him.
She tilted her head until it touched his. In the darkened cinema, with the glamorous world portrayed by Hollywood before them, all their troubles just faded away. But they knew, like all those around them, that real life would return the moment they stepped back out on to the dim street. Fay breathed out quietly, and for a second or two ignored Carole. Although their bodies had known instantly when they’d first seen each other, it had taken these few hours for them to realize they were truly meant for each other – kindred spirits. Her hand found his and squeezed.
After the film they walked slowly to her Aunt’s, arms wrapped around each other. At the top of the street she stopped. ‘I’ll tell her I shared a taxi and got off here.’
She turned into him, arms around his waist, face to one side on his chest.
‘I don’t want to leave you.’
He just held her tight, saying nothing. After a while they kissed. The taste and feel of her was the most wonderful thing to him, her powder, her lipstick, her scent, her smoothness, her hair – everything.
They stayed for a long time, cheek to cheek, just content to breathe so closely together.
Eventually they kissed again, becoming bolder each time their mouths met.
He murmured, ‘When can I see you again?’
He felt her tense.
‘It’s going to be difficult, Tom. My parents – well, they won’t understand.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, that’s a humiliating thing to say.’
He smiled sadly. ‘No – I guessed that much. But when?’
She thought for a while. ‘Can you get to London easily?’
That took him aback.
‘Well, yes, I suppose so. I can use my warrant card, pretend I’m on the job. Why?’
‘It’s easier for me to be up in town doing various things than to be continually coming over to Cheltenham.’
‘You say when, I’ll be there.’
Frowning, she said, ‘It can’t be next weekend, I’ve got a charity ball to attend.’
The jealousy rose in him again with the same unstoppable force.
‘Oh.’ He couldn’t keep the emotion out of his voice.
Her face was caught in the light from a street lamp as she looked up at him.
‘Darling, there is nothing to worry about – it means nothing – honestly.’
‘Who are you going with – that Jeremy fellow?’
She gave him a playful shake.
‘Now stop it. Jeremy will be in the crowd – we always do things together – a whole bunch of us. If I suddenly stop going everybody will be suspicious, Daddy and Mummy especially.’
He tightened his hold, stopping her shaking him again.
‘Sorry.’
They stayed hard together for a second or two, then he looked sternly down at her. ‘You behave now – or else.’
She raised one finely plucked eyebrow. ‘What?’
He remembered a film he’d seen recently. ‘I’ll put you over my knee.’
Fay felt positively weak at the thought, but said with a pretend toss of her head. ‘Huh, you could try.’
Laughing, they moved a few more paces, knowing that the time to part was upon them.
He tried to sound as matter of fact as he could muster. ‘So, the weekend after next?’
She nodded. ‘Absolutely. Can you make late Saturday afternoon?’
‘Yes.’
‘Paddington – by the destination board, at about five o’clock?’
He nodded. ‘I’ll be there.’
They shared a last kiss, then she broke free. ‘I’ve really got to go.’
Incongruously she stuck out her hand. ‘Thank you for a lovely day, Mr Roxham.’
He took it, grinning. ‘My pleasure, Miss Rossiter.’
‘Until the next time?’
‘Indeed, yes.’
She turned away, stepping out down the ill-lit street as he watched her go, waiting for her to turn. Just when he thought she wouldn’t, she did, waving and blowing a kiss.
Then, as she went up the steps of the house, she became obscured by the ornamental railings leading to her Aunt’s door.
He waited until a shaft of light fleetingly illuminated her once more as the front door opened.
When it closed he felt like the loneliest man in the world.
On the walk home he looked at the stars, wondering about the future.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The car was waiting for her at the station and soon she was at the entrance to Codrington Hall. Her mother greeted her in the drawing-room.
‘Darling, have you had a good weekend?’
‘Wonderful, Mummy.’
‘Who was there? Anybody we know?’
‘Oh, a couple of girls from school and a lot of people I didn’t know.’
She changed the subject. ‘And you, Mummy, did you and Daddy enjoy yourselves?’
Her mother finished adjusting the flowers cut by the gardener from the greenhouse. ‘The show was very good indeed. Unfortunately Daddy was kept late. Didn’t get there until after the first act.’
Fay winced. ‘Oh dear, more trouble?’
Her mother nodded. ‘He’s upset by the way things are going. You know how he worries. You’ll find him in his study, darling, I’m sure he’d love to see you.’
Fay gave her mother a peck on the cheek.
‘I’ve got something to ask him, Mother. I’ve decided to try to develop my piano skills as an accompanist. Do you think he’ll approve?’
Lady Rossiter smiled. ‘Oh, that’s wonderful Fay, of course he will, and he can help so much. Go on, quickly.’
Fay gave her mother’s hand a squeeze. She hurried across the hall and down a side passage. At the study door she paused. Taking a deep breath she gave a knock and waited. She heard her father’s muffled, ‘Come in’. Fay opened the door. He was behind his huge mahogany desk with its green shaded and brass reading lamp and silver inkstand.
The walls were full of leather bound books on the law, politics and history. Her father had gone to Harrow and Oxford, where
he had taken a double first in PPE. From there he had gone straight to the Western Front. Now he was a junior minister in Mr Chamberlain’s government, though in the House of Lords.
As soon as he saw her, he stood up, removing his half moon spectacles.
‘Fay, darling.’
He came round the desk and embraced her.
As she hugged him she could feel he’d lost weight.
‘Daddy, I am just back. Sorry to interrupt you, you look busy.’
‘Never too busy for you. Did you have a good party?’
Again she lied. ‘Yes, it was good to see some old school chums and a lot of new people.’
Her father returned to his seat, Fay noticed he seemed to have acquired a stoop as he said, ‘That’s good, that’s good.’
He asked nothing further.
Relieved at his preoccupation, she pressed on. ‘Daddy, I’ve been thinking. I’d like to try to be an accompanist.’
He positively beamed. The tiredness almost disappeared from his face.
‘That’s excellent, my dear, excellent. Would you like me to see what I can do – a few choice introductions?’
She nodded. ‘That would be nice. It’s what I hoped you’d say.’
‘Well consider it done.’
She clenched her hands together in excitement.
‘I’m going up to town the weekend after next,’ she lied, ‘to a Myra Hess concert. Perhaps it would be possible for people to see me then, I am staying overnight?’
‘I’ll make some telephone calls. I’m delighted, Fay, I really am. I was getting a little worried, you seemed to be drifting. It’s wonderful – wonderful.’
Fay decided it might be a good time to mention flying.
‘Daddy, all the girls were talking about getting pilot’s licences. Could I have lessons as well? Amy Johnson started when—’
Frowning, Lord Rossiter stopped her then and there.
‘Fay, no. It’s far too risky and in any case it’s not something a lady should do.’
‘But Daddy, the Duchess of Bedford—’
‘No Fay, that’s an end to it. Look what happened to her. The world is a dangerous enough place as it is.’
She knew the finality in her father’s voice only too well. It would be useless to pursue it any further at the moment. But fly she would – one day.
Meanwhile she was going to see Tom again in two weeks.
Up in her room Fay went to the window and sat in the casement seat, looking out across the lawn to the cedar tree and beyond, to the parkland. Behind the glass of the lattice window the sun was warm.
It all looked so lovely, so peaceful, like her life before she had met Tom, but now?
Wrapping her arms protectively around herself, she thought once more of his hard body when he had held her, and gave a little shiver. It felt like she was on the edge of a storm that was about to break.
Unknown to Tom, his mother and father had noticed a change in their son. He seemed to dream a lot if left alone and took a little more care with his appearance. They knew he’d been out with a girl and had poked gentle fun at him, but he didn’t seem to mind. But he wouldn’t tell them anything about her, and there was no suggestion of bringing her home.
The only thing that Tom Roxham did wax lyrically about was his trip in an aeroplane and how he was going to be a pilot.
His father had had a coughing fit trying to ask him about who was going to pay for such a mad cap idea.
Tom worked hard all week, ending up shadowing a gang of thieves on a train to Bristol Temple Meads station where the group of three, two men and a woman had been arrested, not without a little excitement. One man broke free, jumped down on to the tracks and made off up the line. Tom had pursued him for nearly a mile, dodging clear of moving trains and around all the locomotives and rolling stock in sidings before cornering his quarry in a dead end.
The man pulled a knife and eyes wild, chest heaving, faced him, beckoning him on with his other hand.
‘Come on then, copper.’
Tom took out his short truncheon. ‘Don’t be silly. We know who you are. Now come along quietly.’
Suddenly the man lunged violently forward, bringing the knife up in a vicious thrust—
He woke up in the casualty department of Frenchay Hospital. They dealt with his broken arm later, after assessing his concussion.
Tom signed off and travelled back to Cheltenham. He crossed the passenger bridge at Lansdowne Road station, suddenly enveloped in steam from a southbound goods train headed by a rumbling Collett 0-6-0, and left through the classical columns of the entrance.
After his supper and then the bath he read the Daily Sketch and listened to Arthur Askey on the wireless. He kissed his mother goodnight at nine o’clock.
‘Early for you, son. Are you all right?’
He yawned. ‘Busy day, Mum, goodnight.’
‘Say your prayers now,’ she called out.
Halfway up the stairs and out of sight he rolled his eyes and called out, ‘I will.’
When he was tucked up in bed he did say the Lord’s Prayer, then he added a plea of his own about Fay.
When he woke up at seven it was still dark, but he could just see the odd star through the window. It looked as if it was going to be a fine day.
His sheet and blankets were all in a twisted pile half off the bed and his shoulders, despite the winceyette pyjama top, were freezing. He found his tartan dressing-gown and shoved his feet into the felt carpet slippers under the bed.
Quietly he went downstairs, keen not to wake his parents. He got the fire in the range going with kindling without too much raking and noise and put the kettle on. Letting himself out of the scullery door, he stood shivering in the cold of the lavatory.
By the time he heard his father coughing, the kettle had boiled and he had made a pot of tea. He got the wooden tray with the picture of Weston-Super-Mare inlaid in its centre, and took them up two cups and some biscuits, knocking on the door before he entered.
‘You working this morning?’ His father asked.
His father was sitting up in the brass bedstead, holding the basin that he kept handy to spit into when he got the phlegm up. There was the faint smell of urine in the cold air coming from the chamber pot under the bed.
‘No dad, I’m going to Staverton Aerodrome. There’s the chance of a flight.’
Leaning over, his father put the bowl down on the floor by his side as his mother stirred. He grumbled, ‘You’re daft. Waste of time. Costs hundreds of pounds something like that. You’d be better off going to the football and I don’t mean that funny high-falutin game with a pointy ball that you took up at school. I don’t know what the council thinks its doing. Bloody Cheltenham.’
His father who came from Gloucester, always found Cheltenham stuck up and pretentious. Tom had played rugby at school and occasionally supported the town’s team, much to the disgust of his father, who supported ‘The Robins’ football team.
Tom backed out of the door. ‘Well I’m going all the same. Probably be back in time to go to the game with you.’
He turned around and faced the door to his grandmother’s room, knocked and went in.
His mother elbowed his father in the side. ‘Leave the boy alone, father. It’s got something to do with this girl.’
He got his bicycle out of the shed and opened the back gate, just as a figure in sailor’s uniform with a kit-bag on his shoulder did the same.
‘Morning, Tom.’
He put his leg over the saddle as he nodded and replied.
‘Morning, Jimmy. Leave over?’
It seemed a daft thing to say, seeing as he had on his uniform and carried a kit-bag.
‘Yes. Going to be on the train all day – worse luck.’
‘Where to?’ Tom was interested in the journey.
‘She’s up at Scapa Flow. All the way to Bonnie Scotland for me.’
‘Well, all the best.’
He stuck out his hand and Jimmy took it
.
‘And you.’
The bag was swung up on to the shoulder, nudging Jimmy’s cap. He straightened it so that the name band was in position. It was a source of local awe and pride that he was on the famous battle cruiser, HMS Hood.
The only thing moving in the street was the milkman’s horse and cart, with its three large galvanized churns with taps, and a measuring jug on a chain. The horse plodded gently along, munching from his nose bag.
Soon Tom was out in the country, Churchdown Hill coming into view. He turned down an unmade lane, standing up and pumping the pedals as he climbed up a bank to a bridge which spanned the four lines of the railway running between Gloucester and Cheltenham. Down the other side the aerodrome was clearly visible. Compared with the other week it was all quiet and empty. There were two hangars tucked in near the embankment. He coasted down the approach path and saw an MG sports car with its canvas roof down despite the cold. It stood outside one of the hangars which had two huge double doors open. Inside he could see three aeroplanes, including the one he’d been in the other day. The engine covers were off the one he’d been taken up in, and a mechanic was whistling as he delved into the engine bay. Somewhere else metal was being hammered.
He dismounted and leaned the bike against the fence, then took off his trouser clips. Hesitatingly he approached the open door, stood there. The general smell of aeroplanes assailed his nostrils, the petrol, oil and distinctive aroma of doped canvas.
He must have been there for a good few minutes taking it all in.
‘Ah, so this is the young man who wants to fly?’
Startled, he turned to see the pilot who had taken up Fay.
‘Yes, yes sir.’
The face before him broke into a grin.
‘Well, good for you. What’s your name again?’
‘Tom Roxham.’
The man held out his hand. ‘And mine’s Paul Hayes. Your young lady gave my wife a call – Miss Rossiter of Codrington Hall, is that right?’
Surprised, Tom nodded. He didn’t realize Fay was going to do that.
Paul Hayes gave him a quizzical look. ‘Where did you two meet, may I ask?’
Tom coloured. ‘At a dance, at the Queen’s Hotel.’
Enduring Passions Page 8
