Enduring Passions

by David Wiltshire

  Now they were down to a crawl, passing under great gantries of signals and traversing multiple points as rails weaved and criss-crossed on the approach to Paddington: locomotives waited in The Roads, being coaled and watered, or turned around on tables, ready to be signalled in to the platform, reversing tenders first, to be coupled to their coaches.

  They finally drew slowly in under the great canopy of Brunel’s masterpiece.

  The light dimmed as the grime from the daily assault of steam and smoke turned the glass panes opaque. Almost imperceptibly they came to a halt, but even before they had stopped, doors were being opened and people were stepping out on to the platform.

  Tom took his time, knowing that he was early. As he wandered down the platform Windsor Castle’s safety valve opened. A blast of steam under pressure roared up into the vast space beneath the vaulted glass roof.

  The fireman had climbed down and was checking the sand box while the driver leaned out and watched him. On the main concourse Tom checked his watch. She wouldn’t be there for some time yet. He went to the gents, then washed his hands and combed his hair. Outside again, he crossed to the large model of a King class locomotive in a glass case. When his coin dropped the wheels turned and the piston and coupling rods worked. When it finished Tom looked around and decided to wander over to the arrival and departure board that dominated the gates to the platforms. It was where they had agreed to meet.

  It was a few seconds before he realized she was standing a few feet away, turning, as he recognized her, to see him at the very same instant. With a rush they met, Tom sweeping her off her feet and swinging her round as they kissed and hugged, grinning like a couple of Cheshire cats.

  Fay whispered, ‘Darling, you’re early.’

  He set her gently down, ‘Look who’s talking. How did it go?’

  She shrugged. ‘We shall see.’

  With arms wrapped around each other they just stood there, beaming at each other, until he asked, ‘What would you like to do?’

  She looked at her watch.

  ‘Tom, I hope you don’t mind, but I want to have a photo done of us.’

  He looked down at her, grinning. ‘Have you got a box camera?’

  Shaking her head, she said, ‘I want a photo of us together. I’ve arranged an appointment with the photographers at my hotel. Is that all right?’

  He squeezed her, feeling her lithe body against his.

  ‘Of course, where’s that?’

  ‘Claridges, at six o’clock.’

  ‘Claridges!’ He relaxed his grip on her.

  She looked worried. ‘Is there something wrong?’

  Tom shrugged. ‘Expensive place, I’m not dressed very well.’

  Fay stood back, took in his Harris sports jacket and flannels. ‘You look just fine. Really.’

  ‘Come on, we’ll go there straight away and have some tea – treats on me. Then we’ve got the whole evening to ourselves – your choice.’

  Full of misgivings he reluctantly let her lead him by the hand across the concourse to the side of the terminus where the road came down from Praed Street. A line of taxis stood waiting.

  The deep snort of a locomotive broke through the noise of a motorized chain of luggage trolleys. They had to wait for it to pass before they could reach the first vehicle. Fay leant into the driver’s window which was open.

  ‘Claridges, please.’

  ‘Very good, miss.’

  Tom opened the door and she got in, sliding across the seat. He couldn’t help but notice her legs and trim ankles, before stepping in after her, slamming the door shut behind him.

  Studiously they sat in opposite corners, his hand in the strap beside him as the taxi swung in a tight circle and headed out into the bustling streets of London. He didn’t tell her that this was the first time he had been in a taxi.

  Now as they weaved amongst the red double-decker buses towards Marble Arch he felt a heady excitement. He glanced across at her, at this girl who had changed his life. She sat demurely looking out of the window, until she turned and became conscious of his interest. Her face broke into a warm smile. She gave the tiniest of nods of understanding. He did the same. There was no need for speech. With Park Lane behind them they entered the streets of Mayfair. Tom didn’t know what to expect but the unassuming red brick building was not what he’d imagined. Everybody knew about Claridges – heads of state stayed there. The uniformed commissionaire stepped forward and opened his door. Tom got out, turned and helped Fay.

  ‘Thank you.’

  She made to pay but Tom had his wallet out, conscious of his masculine dignity.

  ‘I’ll do this.’

  He watched as his ten bob note was taken and he waited for his change. When he turned around it was to catch Fay giving the commissionaire something, who touched the brim of his top hat.

  As they entered he whispered to her, ‘I would have done that.’

  Fay realized he was feeling sensitive and clung to his arm, saying dismissively, ‘It was for something he did for me this morning.’

  The main doors were opened for them.

  Feeling a little uneasy, he took in the opulent foyer with its paintings, china vases and the all pervading smell of cigar smoke – the sight and smell of wealth. A group of elegantly dressed women passed by as he followed her to the room where afternoon tea was being served.

  They settled down into deep, luxurious armchairs, a pianist in white dinner jacket playing gently in the background.

  He looked around, realizing not for the first time that they came from different worlds.

  After she had ordered tea and a selection of cakes she leaned forward excitedly.

  ‘Now tell me, how’s the flying going?’

  Tom forgot the whole intimidating atmosphere as he filled her in on his luck at being accepted so quickly into the Civil Air Guard Scheme.

  Her face clouded when he explained what it was all about.

  ‘Oh dear, it means you might be called up then?’

  He shrugged. ‘That’s not going to happen is it, and if it did, well….?’ He pushed out his lower lip. ‘I’d have to go like everybody else. Anyway the flying has been terrific, but it’s a strange old business, sometimes everything goes well, at others nothing goes right. I can manage straight and level pretty well and some banks and turns, but for the life of me I can’t keep it straight on the ground – I swing all over the place. So I’ve yet to master a good take-off.’

  As he continued, telling her about spinning and stalling, Fay listened in rapture, but, in the end, her expression dissolved into glumness.

  ‘I do so envy you, Tom. Daddy won’t help me at all – positively forbids it.’

  He felt her disappointment keenly, as if it was his own and reached out a hand.

  ‘You will, don’t you worry. If, when, I get licensed, I’ll take you up and teach you myself.’

  She bit her lower lip. ‘Is that a promise?’

  ‘It is.’

  Fay got up and came around the table and kissed him on the cheek and ruffled his hair.

  Tom Roxham felt so tall that nobody in the room mattered one bit. He was on top of the world.

  The waitress came back and set out a china tea pot and cups, a small milk jug, tea strainer and bowl and another with sugar cubes and tongs. There was a plate with lemon slices, and finally an ornamental cake stand, the waitress slowly turning it to allow them to make their choices. She poured tea into their cups then with a, ‘Please call if you need further assistance,’ they were left alone.

  Fay offered him the milk jug, then took the lemon bowl and placed a slice in her cup. She raised the bone china to her lips and took a sip.

  ‘What are we going to do tonight?’

  He looked down, stirring his tea having put in three cubes of sugar.

  ‘I wondered if you’d like to go to the Metropolitan in the Edgware Road – Arthur Askey and George Formby are playing there?’

  Fay nodded her approval. ‘But can
we get in without booking?’

  He drank his tea. ‘I think so, but we might have to queue, is that all right?’

  ‘Of course.’

  And then they just lapsed into that comfortable silence that had happened before – being physically close to each other was all that they seemed to need.

  The pianist tinkled gently in the background, coincidentally playing, ‘I only had eyes for you’. When they’d finished, Fay asked for the bill. Tom started to reach for his wallet again. ‘No, let me—’

  She cut him off. ‘Tom, I’m signing for it – let Daddy pay.’

  With his thoughts on the tickets that night, he smiled. ‘Fine.’

  In the foyer, Fay turned to him.

  ‘Would you mind waiting while I change my clothes, this suit is not what I want to see on the photo, or be out in tonight?’

  ‘Of course, take your time.’

  He sat down on an elegant couch and observed the ‘nobs’ at close quarters in one of the top hotels of the world. Mentally he had to pinch himself.

  Upstairs, Fay slipped out of her jacket and dropped her skirt, kicking it away as she rushed to the wardrobe and took out the dress she had decided on. It had sleeves cut off just beneath the elbows, with a ribbon tie around her neck. She pulled her waist in with the attached thin belt, causing the short extra layer of material that fell just around her hips to flare out. Fay selected another pair of shoes with a matching bag, then sat at her dressing-table.

  For the evening, she used a little more make-up and a richer lipstick. Satisfied, she tidied her hair, but didn’t put on the little hat with a small feather – she wanted to be bareheaded for the photograph. The last thing she did was puff scent around her neck.

  When she came tripping down the staircase he looked up and saw her straight away.

  Fay chuckled with pleasure as he stood up and gasped, ‘Oh my God, Fay, you’re beautiful.’

  Wincing, she chided him. ‘Don’t be silly, I’m just an ordinary country girl. Now come on, the photographer is waiting.’ But she was pleased all the same.

  They went to the desk and a young porter escorted them to a room on the ground floor. Inside a chaise-longue stood in front of a blank screen with a jardiniere to one side with an aspidistra in a brass bowl on top. The photographer was an elderly man with a wing collar, but his camera, mounted on a wooden tripod, was the latest from Germany. He fussed around, using a light meter and moving screens. Fay, seated on the chaise with Tom standing behind, whispered out of the side of her mouth, ‘This is all a bit too Victorian for my liking.’

  His hand on her shoulder gave a gentle squeeze. She placed hers over his, then turned back and said to the photographer, ‘Can we have something less formal please. Both of us side by side would be nice – after all, this is the twentieth century.’

  The man winced, but the photos that he later developed by the red light of the dark room, showed two young people, holding hands: two young people full of life, hope and love.

  CHAPTER TEN

  They did get in to the show, laughing as Arthur Askey bounded on shouting, ‘Hello Playmates,’ then singing along as George Formby, strumming his ukelele, went through a medley of songs old and new.

  When they came out there was a light rain falling. They hopped on one of the droves of buses heading towards Marble Arch, crashing down on to the bench seat, laughing as they caught their breath.

  The conductor came clattering down the stairs and stood with practised ease, legs apart, as the bus jerked through its gears.

  ‘Where to, mate?’

  Tom looked at her. ‘Do you know the nearest stop for your hotel?’

  ‘No, not really.’

  The conductor turned his attention to her. ‘Where you staying, miss?’

  ‘Claridges.’

  He grinned. ‘Cor blimey, luv – only the best for you.’

  He told them to get off in Park Lane – he’d tell them when. They’d have to walk from there. He moved further on up the aisle, bouncing off seats to maintain his balance.

  ‘Tom, I never thought, where are you staying tonight?’

  Her voice was full of concern.

  He shrugged. ‘Sorry, but I can’t afford to stay. I’ll catch one of the workmen trains.’

  Her face fell.

  ‘Oh.’ There was a silence for a second or two as they watched the surging crowds on the pavement. They had reached the bottom of the Edgware Road, before she said in a low voice, ‘So I won’t see you tomorrow then?’

  ‘Afraid not.’

  Tom was conscious that she was looking very miserable and felt rotten.

  More silence followed then she said, ‘I may be asked to play again in the morning, but afterwards I was looking forward to doing something together. We don’t know when we’ll be able to meet again, do we?’

  He squeezed her hand, and said, ‘We will – and very soon.’

  The bus stopped outside a cinema on the corner with Oxford Street and people crowded on, filling the standing room in the aisle. Tom got up to let a woman sit down and stood over Fay as he hung on to a strap. She frowned up at him, one hand gripping his raincoat, as if to make sure he didn’t leave her.

  Tom felt depressed, but then again, he always knew he would be leaving her – hadn’t realized though that she thought he was staying overnight.

  The bus roared around Marble Arch and entered Park Lane.

  The bell rang once and from somewhere near the front of the crowded bus the conductor’s voice rang out. ‘This stop for Claridges.’

  As Fay struggled to stand and Tom made room for her, all eyes seemed to be on them. They were the only ones to get off. As the bus roared away, Fay slipped her hand through his and they began to walk.

  ‘I’ve had a wonderful idea.’

  He was relieved that she seemed to have perked up again. ‘What’s that?’

  She stopped walking, forcing him to face her as she took a deep breath and said, eyes shining. ‘Tom, don’t think I’m being silly or anything like that, but why don’t you come and stay with me?’

  Startled, he began to protest.

  ‘Fay – I couldn’t …’

  She interrupted him. ‘It’s a suite – so I’ll have the bedroom, you can have the sofa.’

  Her face beamed. ‘It solves everything.’

  Tom was taken aback. Frightened at the thought of them being together all night. If anyone found out …

  Weakly, he stammered, ‘But I haven’t got a razor or anything – I’ll look awful in the morning.’

  Exasperated, she snapped, ‘Don’t be silly, married women see their husbands like that all the time.’

  As soon as it came out she realized she’d said aloud what she had been day-dreaming about for days. The words hung in the air until he heard himself say, ‘Will I be your husband one day, Fay?’

  Blushing madly, she looked away. ‘It’s the man that proposes – remember?’

  He didn’t hesitate – shocking himself. ‘Will you marry me, Fay?’

  Although the breath seemed to have gone from her lungs and her heart first stopped then raced away she finally managed a matter-of-fact sounding, ‘Of course.’

  They both looked at each other in dazed amazement. They had only known each other for such a short time. Fay leant against him and he wrapped his arms around her. He could feel her trembling slightly so he tried to explain.

  ‘I had no idea that was coming, I….’

  She suddenly came up on her toes and held her lips up to be kissed.

  When they eventually parted, he gave a yell and picking her up in his arms, swung her around and around as she squealed with delight – so much so that two cloaked policewomen, walking on the other side of the road, paused and looked their way. He set her down again and they both waved to the constables before resuming their walk.

  Tom suddenly became serious.

  ‘Oh my God – your parents. They won’t be happy will they?’

  Fay, laughing, hugge
d him around the waist.

  ‘No, probably not. But they’ll get over it.’

  But his gloom was not to be shaken off so quickly.

  ‘Fay, I’ve got no money. I don’t earn enough yet to support you, I can never keep you in the style you are used to.’

  She squeezed his arm. ‘Stop worrying. It’s you I want and, in any case, we won’t be marrying tomorrow, will we?’

  Ruefully he sighed. ‘I suppose not – though I would love to.’

  She looked up searchingly. ‘No doubts?’

  ‘None at all.’

  She persisted. ‘You haven’t known me very long. Are you really sure?’

  ‘Really sure. And what about you?’

  ‘Oh, I knew straight away.’

  Tom tweaked her nose. ‘Come on now, you were very haughty with me.’

  She stuck the tip of her tongue out at him. ‘It was fear. My mind and body were in turmoil at such a beautiful sight. I’d never seen anybody like you before.’

  Playfully, he half-turned her and slapped her bottom. ‘More respect, young lady, if you are going to be my wife.’

  Fay giggled nervously at the thought then said, ‘Fay Roxham has a nice ring, don’t you think?’

  ‘Very nice.’

  They walked on again, before she broke the silence.

  ‘What about your parents, Tom? They might not like me – it works both ways you know.’

  ‘They’ll love you, but….’ He frowned. ‘We live in a terraced house, Fay, pretty basic, I….’

  She stopped dead and shook herself free. ‘Now that’s the last of that sort of talk, Tom, or I won’t believe you really want to marry me. Stop putting yourself down.’

  He pulled a face. ‘I was just pointing out how different we….’

  Her eyes flashed. ‘Are you going to marry me or not?’

  Holding her firmly by the shoulders he said, ‘Yes I am.’

  She sighed. ‘Good. Then no more talk about this or that. Right?’

  Ruefully he nodded. ‘Right.’

  For a while they walked in silence, getting used to the extent of what had changed. It had been so sudden, but at the same time, so natural. That they would have got around to talking about it after months of tentative and disrupted dates seemed certain, but the speed and abruptness had overwhelmed them.