She was ahead of him. ‘It’s Staverton aerodrome – oh …’ She turned around, eyes alight with excitement. ‘What’s happened?’
He couldn’t contain it any longer. ‘I’ve soloed.’
Fay’s mouth flew open, her arms went around his neck as she screamed, ‘Tom, that’s brilliant.’ He clasped her waist and lifted her off the ground as she continued to squeal with pleasure. Simpson coughed and discreetly looked away as she reached up and pulled his face down to hers and gave him a big kiss.
‘You must be good, Tom.’
As he started to protest she butted in. ‘Tell me about it.’
He did his best. In the end she sighed. ‘Oh God, I do envy you so.’
He felt for her, held her tightly as they continued to look at the view, Tom’s attention caught by the far-away white plume of steam and smoke from an express heading south.
Reluctantly she released him and gave him a tap on the shoulder. ‘Come on, we’d better go.’
They got back into the car, sitting in the corners, a space between them.
Fay opened her handbag for the photos. ‘And I’ve got something for you.’
Tom looked down at the glossy black and white prints of them both, standing side by side, caught forever at the very beginning of their life together.
‘Oh, Fay. Can I keep one?’
She nodded. Seeing them had brought a lump to his throat. He leant over and gave her a kiss on the cheek, unconcerned whether Simpson saw him or not. He took out his wallet and put the photo in and put it back into the jacket pocket over his heart, tapping it with his hand as she watched.
The car cleared the Cotswold escarpment and neared Cirencester. When they finally passed through the village of Bagendon she reached for his hand and squeezed it.
‘Here we go.’
They swept through the gates and up the drive, Fay watching him closely as the house came into view in all its glory.
Their eyes met. Tom grinned. ‘Nice little place.’
There was nobody in the doorway, not even Wilson. It seemed ominous.
Fay jumped out and met Tom as he came around the back of the car.
‘Now remember, I love you, so whatever my parents do or say, keep that fixed firmly in your head.’
He smiled. ‘I will.’
He looked up at the façade of the house and felt very daunted.
They entered the stone-floored hall, Fay leading the way. There was nobody around. Frowning, she made for the drawing-room doors which were closed. She opened the left-hand one and walked in. Her parents were standing close together by the fireplace, looking very serious. The atmosphere was decidedly chilly.
‘Daddy, Mummy, this is Tom.’
He had followed her in. For a second or two they faced each other in silence before Tom took a step further forward and held out his hand.
‘Sir.’
Lord Rossiter paused for a second that frightened Fay to death, before he grudgingly took the hand and shook it – just the once, letting go quickly.
Her mother held back, didn’t offer her hand as her husband said rather sarcastically, ‘So – you are Tom Roxham.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And where did you meet my daughter?’
Tom shuffled his feet. ‘Well, the very first time we saw each other was at a dance in Cheltenham.’
Her mother spoke for the first time. ‘You were in the orchestra, I believe?’ She managed to make it sound as if he had been cleaning the drains.
‘Yes.’
Fay stepped forward and said proudly, ‘Look, Mummy.’
She held out her hand with the ring.
Lady Rossiter gave it a cursory glance. ‘Very nice.’
The way she said it was dismissive, making Fay burn with anger – and embarrassment for Tom.
Her father only looked at it passingly, and grunted, ‘What exactly did Fay say you did for a living?’
She noticed that he hadn’t yet called Tom by his Christian name and was irritated by the fact. ‘I’m a Police Constable with the Great Western Railway, sir – acting as a detective.’
‘Hmmm.’
There was no disguising the disapproval in his voice. ‘Can you honestly expect to keep my daughter in the manner to which she is accustomed on your salary?’
‘Daddy.’ She could stand it no longer. ‘What is this, an interrogation?’
Her mother joined in. ‘Fay, we have been so worried.’ She turned to Tom, saying, ‘Can you understand that?’
‘Yes – Mrs – sorry – Lady Rossiter. I am well aware that I’m not from the same background, but all I can do is reassure you that my love for Fay is genuine.’
‘And mine for you,’ butted in Fay.
‘That’s all very well.’ Her father struggled with himself visibly for a second before saying, ‘Tom, but the cold reality is that Fay is used to all sorts of things – a decent home, horses, the best hotels. Can you give her that sort of life?’
‘Oh really, this is too much.’ Fay was getting angry. ‘We’ve hardly been in the house a minute.’
Seeing her anger her mother placed a restraining hand on her husband’s arm. ‘Would you like a drink before lunch?’ she asked Tom.
He looked at Fay, who said quickly, ‘A sherry would be nice, wouldn’t it?’
He turned back to her mother. ‘Yes, that’s very kind – thank you.’
Wilson had appeared from nowhere and now proceeded to pour three glasses which he served to them on a silver tray.
‘Sir?’
Her father shook his head, held up a tumbler of whisky. ‘I’ve already started.’
Awkwardly, Tom took his glass and waited until Lady Rossiter sipped hers before he did the same.
A sort of uneasy truce descended.
‘Shall I serve luncheon soon, madam?’
Lady Rossiter nodded. ‘Ten minutes.’ She looked at them all. ‘I think we’re nearly ready.’
While they drank the sherry he was conscious of them watching his every move as they made small talk.
Fay put her arm through his at one point, emphasizing that they were together.
When they sat down, it was in the dining-room to her surprise – one of the most formal rooms. Her father sat at the head of the table, her mother at the other end and Fay and Tom opposite one another in the middle. They were unable to see each other easily because of a very large and elaborate silver candelabra. Fay fumed. They often ate quite informally in the Orangery at lunchtimes. This had all been set up to intimidate Tom.
Wilson held the serving dish whilst her mother and then Fay helped themselves to slices of cold beef, potatoes and beetroot. When it was Tom’s turn he did the same – unfortunately dropping one of the slices half off the plate. He quickly put it in place using his fingers. Fay noticed the looks exchanged between her parents.
But any hopes that they may have had about his misuse of the knife and fork, especially how to hold it were quickly dispelled. His gran had been in service and had supervised young Tom’s table manners from a very early age. So he wasn’t phased by the use of his table napkin, or which items of cutlery to use for what.
Red wine was poured into his glass. After his ‘tasting’ fiasco on their first date, Fay had told him more about wine so when Lord Rossiter said ‘I hope you like the Bordeaux,’ he swirled it in his glass, took a sniff and a sip and said, ‘Yes, very good, sir.’
By the end of the meal, Fay was bursting with pride – and relief.
Wilson presented the humidor, which Tom declined. Lord Rossiter selected one, rolling it between finger and thumb, then cut the end.
Lady Rossiter pushed back her chair as Wilson hurried to help and threw her napkin on to the table.
‘Come along, Fay, let’s leave them to talk.’
Fay put her napkin on the table and stood up. She knew what her parents were doing – separating them deliberately. She shot her father a hard look. ‘Don’t be long, will you?’
When they�
��d gone, clouds of blue smoke rose around Lord Rossiter as he sucked the cigar into a glowing, fiery end before waving the match in the air until the flame extinguished.
‘Shall we take a stroll on the terrace – need a bit of fresh air?’
Obediently, Tom followed him through a french window held open by Wilson. Outside Lord Rossiter took a few steps to the stone balustrade and looked out over the parkland, taking in exaggerated lungfuls of air before sticking the cigar back into his mouth.
‘Ah, that’s better.’
‘Beautiful house and grounds you have, sir.’
Lord Rossiter nodded slowly in agreement. ‘And you, Tom – tell me about where you live and your parents.’
He did, making no fabrications to improve his standing.
‘I live in a terraced house rented to my grandmother, with my parents. Father is unemployed – gassed in the war at Passchendaele.’
Just for once Fay’s father betrayed a trace of softness. He shook his head. ‘Thank God I missed anything like that. Bad enough getting blown up, but that.’ He shook his head again.
‘Give my best wishes to your father. What unit was he with?’
Tom told him. ‘The County Regiment, sir.’
‘Well now, they were close to my sector of the front – but I dare say I had my Blighty one before him.’
They walked in silence for a moment or two until Lord Rossiter stopped and faced him. ‘You are a very agreeable young man. It’s nothing personal. Nonetheless you must know we are bitterly opposed to this marriage, Tom – it’s not going to take place.’
This time there was no coldness in the way he said ‘Tom’.
The latter’s heart fell to his boots.
This conversational friendly manner seemed so frighteningly absolute – more of a done fact than an expression of their feelings.
Bleakly he dug his heels in.
‘Yes, it is.’
Lord Rossiter twitched his lower jaw. ‘You hardly know each other.’
That was something Tom was prepared for. It was true but….
‘I know and Fay knows it, sir, but the fact is we are meant for each other, something happened to us both when we first met.’
‘Stop talking like a character in one of those American films – life is far harsher than fiction. Look, Tom, now I’ve met you I can see you’re a decent enough type, but you should know that Fay is a very strong-willed girl and the more she thinks she wants to marry you, the more she will convince herself – whether it’s true or not.’
Tom persisted. ‘But it is true, sir. We love each other.’
Lord Rossiter didn’t reply immediately, resuming his stroll. After a while he said, ‘You do know, I presume, that she has just had a marvellous offer to pursue a musical career?’
‘Yes, of course.’
Her father paused. ‘It involves an overseas tour of six months.’
‘So I gather.’
‘We do hope that she intends going through with it. You haven’t tried to talk her out of it I hope? Her mother and I would be most upset after all the years of hard work?’
‘No, of course not. To be honest it hasn’t been on our minds at all.’
Lord Rossiter took a pull on his cigar, then said challengingly, ‘The two of you are not entertaining the thought of any hasty action, I hope?’
‘Hasty?’ Tom wasn’t sure what he was getting at.
‘Yes – like eloping?’
His mouth dropped open. ‘Good Lord, no.’
A faint smile flittered briefly across Lord Rossiter’s face. ‘That is a relief. I did not confide my fears to Fay’s mother, she is under enough strain as it is.’
Tom shook his head. ‘We’re engaged, sir. That’s all. There are no plans for the wedding – we haven’t even talked about it.’
Her father walked on. ‘Good, I applaud your correctness, Tom.’
To the latter, it seemed to be going quite well again, then like a dagger thrust from behind a cloak, Lord Rossiter said, ‘Of course, we shall now automatically exclude Fay from our wills – you will get not a penny from any union with this family.’
After the shock, in which Lord Rossiter carried on strolling as if nothing had happened, Tom felt his anger rising. But he recalled Fay’s plea to remember that whatever the provocation, she loved him and to keep calm.
But he couldn’t help saying sarcastically, ‘Nor you from entering into the Roxhams – sir.’
Lord Rossiter was not amused. Bleakly he answered, ‘You may joke, young man, but I am deadly serious. You will gain nothing financially from this venture.’
Despite everything, Tom began to lose his composure.
‘I thought we were coming to an understanding, sir. I love your daughter – she loves me. What you have just inferred is not only insulting to me, but, far worse, you can’t think much of Fay to say something like that.’
The older man grunted. ‘I wouldn’t be carrying out the obligation of being her father if I didn’t protect her, at least until she becomes the concern of another man – her husband.’
Tom bit back the desire to say it sounded as though he was talking about Fay as if she was property or something. Instead, he managed, ‘Fine, sir, but I’m not concerned at all with your family’s wealth, you can be assured of that, nor is Fay.’
‘Really? Have you asked her?’
‘No.’
‘Then perhaps you should.’
Tom was getting exasperated by the whole trend of the conversation. ‘I have no need. Is that “it” sir? Is that your main concern?
‘Of course not, Tom.’
Lord Rossiter grinned in such a friendly way that what followed was unnerving. ‘You are completely unsuitable; with neither the education, background, prospects – need I go on? Tom, for all our sakes, think again about this madness. It can’t be right, can it?’
Tom shook his head. ‘I’m sorry you think that.’ This time he deliberately stopped himself from adding ‘sir’. ‘Fay and I so wanted your blessing. It will make her very sad.’
‘Perhaps it will make her see sense.’
Tom had had enough. He was sure that Lord Rossiter had been a good father to Fay – and was, in his way, doing what he thought best for her, but he was being very direct and somewhat rude.
He felt his patience running out and struggled to control himself. ‘I think we have nothing further to say to each other, have we? We’re engaged. I’m sorry you cannot accept that.’
Lord Rossiter raised an eyebrow, waited until he’d drawn thoughtfully on his cigar before replying.
‘Tell you what, Tom, you help us persuade Fay to go on her tour, demonstrate this is no five minute wonder, and I will do nothing in the meantime to come between you – how about that?’
‘And afterwards?’
Fay’s father’s lips compressed into a thin line. ‘We will cross that bridge when it comes.’
After seconds of silence, Tom said, ‘I wouldn’t dream of standing in Fay’s way – if she wants to go, there will be no opposition from me.’
Lord Rossiter nodded. ‘Good.’
Fay had followed her Mother into the drawing-room and straightaway challenged her. ‘Well, now that you’ve met him, what do you think?’
Her mother frowned. ‘Oh really dear – if you mean do I think he’s good-looking, in a rough sort of way, yes, but he’s – well, working-class. You really can’t be serious?’
Fay took a cigarette from the box on the table.
‘Never so sure about anything before in my life, mother.’
She lit up as Lady Rossiter protested, ‘But he is totally beneath you socially – you’ll be a laughing stock.’
Fay took the cigarette from her lips.
‘You’re ashamed, aren’t you, mother? That’s what’s really hurting you!’
Lady Rossiter sat down in a wing chair. ‘Fay – please, please, let this madness pass. It’s as though you are ill or something. You’ve only just met, how can you carry on as
if you really know him?’
Throw the thin curl of smoke going up from her cigarette, Fay said, ‘I knew straightaway.’
Her mother made a clicking noise of disapproval.
She continued, ‘So, you would throw away everything – and I mean everything, your career, your position in society, your family, for a life of poverty with a man you know nothing about.’
Fay took her time answering, as though she was seriously considering the question, then said brightly, ‘Yes.’
Lady Rossiter just shook her head in despair. ‘He will not get a penny from this family – you do realize that, don’t you, Fay?’
Her daughter’s eyes widened with disbelief. ‘My God. I can’t believe you said that.’
‘Why not?’
Fay threw her arms wide.
‘You’ve met him, mother. Need I say more? He is so obviously not a cad.’
‘Hmmm. And what about your career? Have you thought about that?’
For the first time Fay’s eyes clouded. Seeing her success, Lady Rossiter added quickly, ‘All those years studying, you finally start to get somewhere, and then a complete stranger comes along and spoils it all.’
‘Not necessarily, Mother.’
Lady Rossiter sniffed. ‘Are you telling me he’s not going to try to stop you?’
‘No – of course not.’
But in reality they had not discussed it and, more to the point, she suddenly realized that she had been pushing it to the back of her mind.
Lady Rossiter continued, ‘You don’t know much about men, do you, Fay? Once they are in charge they become very selfish. He’ll want you around him – taking care of him, you wait and see.’
Fay restrained herself from saying that whilst her mother might feel that way about her father, she had no such feeling like that for Tom – they were equals.
She remained silent, taking another pull on her cigarette, then resting her hand on her cheek, elbow on the arm of the chair as the smoke curled away above her head. But her mother wasn’t going to take a rest from it.
‘When would you expect to marry this man?’
Fay was getting tired of her mother’s disinclination to use his name. ‘Do you mean Tom?’
Grimacing, Lady Rossiter snorted, ‘Of course – unless you are engaged to more than one man.’
Enduring Passions Page 18
