Enduring Passions

by David Wiltshire

  ‘Welcome to the Grand, madam, sir.’

  Tom paid off the taxi and looked up at the façade.

  ‘Phew, it’s rather big compared with the rest of the town.’

  At the reception desk he was greetd by a black-coated man with a silk tie. ‘Good evening, sir. Have you a reservation?’

  They looked at each other. ‘Yes – Mr and Mrs Roxham.’

  Out of sight, Fay’s hand had found his and squeezed.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  In the morning Fay watched him shave, fascinated by the paths of exposed bluish skin left by the safety razor in the white fields of snow that was the lather.

  She sat cross-legged on the bed, her pink tipped breasts exposed but with the sheet tangled around her waist and legs. Fay felt sore, bruised, and very very happy.

  In the mirror his eyes met hers. All that had happened between them in the night was contained in the look that passed between them. Shyly she glanced away, down at her lap. When she raised them again he was busy rinsing the soap off the razor with water in the basin. Fay let her eyes run down his body, from his wide shoulders to his narrow hips and tight little buttocks and on down his muscled hairy legs. It was all hers now. From the moment she had lain on the double bed and called out that she was ready, nervously arranging the new pure-silk nightdress around her, to the time when she finally fell asleep, naked, curled up with Tom behind her, his breath on the top of her head, rough hands cupping her breasts, one leg possessively over her, she had become his flesh, and he – hers.

  He finished shaving and pressing a towel to his face, turned around. She was still taken aback by the sight of the passive male genitalia so casually displayed. And then she realized with a start that it was taking an interest in her – again.

  As he came nearer, throwing the towel aside, she sank back on to the pillow, hands splayed out defensively before her and clowned, ‘No – No—’

  He leapt on her as she screamed and giggled, then all went quiet until she took him into herself for the fourth time in their married life, and Fay Roxham found her voice again as she used all the strength of her arms and legs wrapped around him to hold on to his thrusting body.

  It was like riding Jenny to hounds – only better.

  After a breakfast of smoked kippers they strolled hand in hand along the front till they reached the lifeboat station, then turned back as the sparkling waves fell at regular, lazy intervals on to the pebbles and drew noisily back through the bouncing, dragging stones.

  Up in the town he bought a Daily Sketch and they found a little teashop attached to a bakery, and ordered coffee.

  Tom read the headline which stated that Germany and Italy had signed a formal alliance, something that was being called a ‘Pact of Steel’. He began to realize that what Dickie Dickinson had been talking about was probably becoming reality. In the pit of his stomach he felt a heaviness, a sickening feeling that somehow there would be an intrusion into their lives that he had not properly realized before.

  He lowered the paper.

  ‘Darling, I want to ask your advice.’

  She looked up from her magazine, sensing the seriousness in his tone. He showed her the headline then told her about his talk with Dickinson.

  ‘So you see, – should I leave the police if they won’t allow me two months off, and try for the air force straightaway?’

  Dismayed, just like he had been, with this invasion into their new found happiness, she was pleased with the time to think, provided by the interruption when the waitress returned with their coffee.

  When she’d gone Fay reached for his hand on the table and covered it with her own.

  ‘Darling, the decision must be yours. Is it as inevitable as your man seems to think?’

  Tom shrugged. ‘Who knows? The point is, would you mind if I lost my job, and ended up in the Royal Air Force, or on the dole?’

  She shook her head. ‘You do what feels right. But Tom—’ She looked imploringly at him. ‘Whatever you do, take care, won’t you?’

  For the next two days and nights, he tried to push it from his mind as they walked and talked, ate, drank and made love and slept in each other’s arms.

  On the last afternoon, when the weather had turned even warmer, they walked out of Sheringham on the coast path, up Skelding Hill to the lookout point. There, he sat with his back to the steep grassy slope with Fay leaning against him and looked down along the coastline of cliffs and beaches leading into the distance as far away as Blakeney Point. A mile inland was a windmill, with behind it the pine covered hills that rose to a sky filled with the twitter of skylarks. To complete his heaven a burst of white smoke in the far distance heralded a train coming from Holt.

  He chewed a stalk of grass and watched as two men in plus-fours drove off from the golf course just below them.

  ‘Fay – thank you for this.’ He swept his arm around. ‘It’s so beautiful, so….’

  She rolled on to her tummy and looked up at him.

  ‘So England? Like an illustration from a child’s story book?’

  Smiling, he nodded. ‘Yes.’

  He looked intently at her. ‘Tomorrow, you’re sure—?’

  She cut him off. ‘Yes. Come to the station – but that’s it.’

  She was going to Norwich then on to London. He was due back at work, but had tried to persuade her to let him come with her for the extra few hours together, but she wouldn’t hear of it.

  A week later she was sailing from Southampton on the Union Castle Mail ship the RMMV Warwick Castle to Cape Town, which would take fourteen days. After two concerts there they would continue on to Australia and New Zealand, with the Orient Steam Ship Company.

  ‘All right.’ He saw that she was adamant. ‘But only if you let me come to Southampton to see you off.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘What about your parents?’

  She sighed and held out her hand, showing the new wedding rings on her third finger, left hand.

  ‘Father might not notice, but mother will. Besides, I’m now most definitely your wife – I shall tell them so.’

  She leant over him and gave him a very gentle kiss on the lips. ‘Mark you, my passport is still Miss Rossiter, I’ve had no chance to change it yet.’

  He stroked her hair, teasing a strand back over her ear. ‘You sure you don’t want me there when you tell them, after all, you are my wife?’

  She grinned. ‘I’ll be all right. Whether they come to see me off is another matter. All I want is for you to be there.’

  They lapsed into silence, except for the soft whisper of the grass and the skylarks above them and the gentle far off lap of the waves.

  Next morning they were up earlier than they had been the previous few days. To Tom it all seemed to happen so quickly. Their luggage was collected from their room after breakfast, and the taxi was waiting for them at 8.30.

  As they drove the short distance through the streets watching the shopkeepers open up, some putting boxes of fruit and vegetables on display on the pavement, others cleaning their windows and pulling out the white canvas awnings with hooked poles, they said nothing.

  Tom paid off the taxi and followed the porter through the small, wooden-floored booking-hall, giving his ticket to the collector who punched it.

  ‘You’re platform two, sir – another half an hour.’

  Her train was already in, the coaches right in front of them. The porter found her a seat and put her suitcase on the rack, then rejoined them on the platform for his tip.

  Fay turned to Tom. ‘Darling, I’ll see you in Southampton.’

  ‘I’m not looking forward to your leaving.’

  ‘Neither am I. But this is important, Tom, and I’ll soon be home.’

  He nodded. ‘By the way I’m going to do it Fay – try for the RAF. If it comes off it will help fill the void whilst you are away. In any case, I’m not happy with policing on the railway anymore – not for life anyway.’

  ‘Good for you.’<
br />
  The guard looked at his watch, but still kept talking to the station-master. Tom said, ‘You’d better get on.’

  She nodded. They moved closer, held each other, said nothing.

  When the guard’s piercing whistle came it made them break apart. She kissed him quickly on the lips then boarded the train. He closed the door behind her as she pulled the strap and lowered the window and put her head out.

  ‘Take care, Mr Roxham.’

  ‘I will. And you too, Mrs Roxham.’

  The carriages began to move slowly. She stayed at the window as the train drew away, over the level crossing with the white gates that stopped the traffic going down into the town.

  He stayed where he was until he could no longer see her. Picking up his case he walked slowly over the footbridge, feeling utterly desolate.

  Dickinson looked at him through a haze of cigarette smoke.

  ‘Good, I’ll see what I can do, you will have to go for an interview – it will all depend on that.’

  Tom nodded. ‘Will that be for the volunteer reserve or the regular air force?’

  Dickinson flicked some ash off his jacket. ‘If you’ve made your mind up to chuck your job, come what may, I’d go straight for the service. You’ve got a better chance than the reserve; they’ll know you’re serious, and besides, the reserves can be a bit snooty, a bit cliquey.’

  Fay walked into the house and found her parents in the drawing-room. They were looking gloomy. Her heart quickened. Had they somehow found out about them?

  ‘What is it? Is everything all right?’

  Her mother, who had a hand on her husband’s arm as he sat in his chair, said, ‘Yes. Your father’s just concerned about the way the international scene is developing, that’s all. He’s worried about another war.’

  He waved his free hand. ‘Don’t let it concern you, darling – you go and enjoy your tour. It’s probably me being silly, you know how upset I can get about these things.’

  She felt genuine concern. Her father had never really got over the effects of the Great War and was sometimes a little emotional.

  ‘Oh, Daddy.’

  Unthinking, she pulled her gloves off and put her hand gently against his cheek. ‘Don’t worry. I’m sure Mr Chamberlain will do something again.’

  Her father sniffed. ‘I fear not, I don’t think there is anything more he can do.’

  All of a sudden, out of the corner of her eye Fay sensed her mother had frozen. As the realization dawned, she knew what it was.

  She drew herself upright, held out the hand so they could see the single, gold band properly. ‘Yes, Tom and I were married.’

  The effect on them both was devastating – and different.

  Her father’s shoulders slumped; he looked old and defeated, but her mother’s eyes flared with anger.

  ‘You silly, ungrateful little hussy – do you know what you’ve done? You’ve ruined your life, the reputation of this family, and for what? A common little man who is only after you for your money.’

  Her mother’s vitriol took Fay completely unawares, as she continued, ‘I hope God forgives you for this, Fay, because I won’t.’

  Fay pleaded, ‘Mother, we wanted to spare both families—’

  ‘Tosh. You did it because the wretch wanted to get into your knickers before you went off on tour, that’s the real reason.’

  Startled by her mother’s crudeness, Fay struggled to keep calm. ‘Don’t be vulgar, Mother. You met Tom – you must know he’s not like that. I know you tried to separate us by having him moved.’

  Contemptuously, her mother almost spat the words out. ‘Where were you married then, without your family present? Some back street church in a cheap area of London?’

  ‘Actually, it was in a register office – we thought—’

  She got no further.

  ‘So, you’ve been to bed with this man and you’re not even married in the eyes of God. How low can you get? You’re nothing but a whore—’

  Fay slapped her mother’s cheek.

  The effect was startling.

  Her father roared, ‘Fay!’ and then there was absolute silence.

  She felt drained, wretched.

  It was some time before she said in a low voice, ‘Mother – I’m so sorry, I….’

  Without another word Lady Rossiter turned and left the room. Fay felt the tears coming.

  Her father surprised her by saying, ‘I’m sorry it’s come to this, Fay. You should never have done that, but I don’t need to tell you. I’ll speak to your mother later and, if you are capable of saying sorry again, I’m sure it will be all right.’

  He seemed to have shrunk into his chair, his voice thinner, as though he had become older. Shaking his head slowly from side to side he mumbled, ‘What’s happening to us Fay? I can’t help worrying about everything.’

  She dropped to her knees before him, resting her arms on his knees as she looked up at him. ‘Daddy, I’m really very happy. Tom’s a good man and he’s as concerned as you about the international situation. He’s even trying to join the Royal Air Force – does that sound like a gold digger to you?’

  Her father looked down at her, blinking. ‘Is he?’

  Fay was bursting to talk about Tom. She explained about Dickinson, and the advice he was giving Tom about getting into the service.

  Lord Rossiter grunted. ‘Is that what he wants – is that what you want – after all, he is your husband now?’

  She searched his face, but there was no trace of malice, or irony.

  ‘Well, Daddy, he’s passionate about flying and so am I. If a war is looming he’ll have to go sometime, won’t he, and if not I’ll just be an air force wife – with my own career.’

  Her father looked at her sadly. ‘Darling, you do understand he won’t get a commission?’

  She stiffened, then realized he was only concerned for her. ‘Yes, Daddy, but I don’t care.’

  Resignedly he nodded. He knew that any resistance to his daughter and Tom’s union was now pointless.

  ‘You say he’s got to go for an interview first?’

  Fay tried to remember what Tom had said. ‘Something about him needing to be accepted by an air board, then going to a civilian flying school full time. If he gets through that, he’ll be taken on by the service for further training.’

  There was a pause, until, looking guilty, Lord Rossiter said, ‘I have intervened – unfairly – once before, but would you like me to make sure his application is, at least, not lost in the bureaucracy?’

  Fay rubbed his knees and smiled affectionately up at him. ‘Thank you, Daddy – I know he would appreciate it.’

  Lord Rossiter laid a hand gently on her head. ‘Give me the details then, but I can’t do anything about the actual interview – that he’ll have to pass on his own merit.’

  Fay said, ‘Of course.’

  The remaining days were hectic as she visited relatives and friends. Her large travelling trunk that opened into drawers on one side and a hanging space on the other, was carefully loaded on to a Union Castle lorry under the supervision of Wilson.

  Her mother was conspicuous by her absence most of the time, though she had begrudgingly accepted another heartfelt apology from a tearful Fay.

  On the last night, as they sat in the drawing-room Fay finally plucked up courage to ask, ‘Will you come to Southampton to see me off?’

  Her mother paused, on the point of bringing a glass of sherry to her lips, and said quietly, ‘Is your husband going to be there?’

  Fay nodded.

  ‘In that case I think it would be better if we said goodbye here.’

  And that was that. On the morning of her departure Simpson, with further cases aboard, brought the Rolls around to the front door. They all stood in the hall.

  Her father handed her several letters and a packet.

  ‘That last one is for Aunt Blanche in Singapore. She knows she’s not seeing you until you’re on the way back. There’s no rush – it�
�s just a few photographs and a couple of mementoes that belonged to my brother. She left them here when she was last visiting us.’

  Fay knew that Uncle Robert had died in the Great War and his widow, Aunt Blanche, had married again, only to become a widow for a second time when her planter husband had died of malaria. There had been no children from either union.

  She reached up and kissed his cheek, tasting a trace of shaving soap.

  He whispered, ‘I’ve had a word. His application will be highlighted.’

  She gave him a hug and whispered back, ‘Thank you.’

  Fay faced her mother. Lady Rossiter spoke first.

  ‘Have a good journey and my fondest regards to all those on the list I gave you.’

  She leant forward to be kissed on the cheek, but there was no great warmth.

  Lord Rossiter watched as his wife and daughter went through the motions of saying farewell, and felt a great sadness. He had a feeling that this family feud between the two women in his life was set to last for a very long time – if not for ever.

  Fay reached the terminal at two o’clock. In the great crush of people and the confusion she looked around. There was no sign of him. Her luggage was delivered to the receiving officer whose men took it away.

  ‘Well Miss Fay, if that’s all I can do for you?’ Simpson was obviously eager to get away.

  ‘Yes, that’s fine, thank you.’

  She held out her hand, he hastily removed his driving glove and shook it, as he also touched the peak of his cap with his other hand.

  ‘All the best, miss.’

  When he’d gone, she checked her tickets again and watched as the throng milling around the white picket fence that marked the start of the embarkation point, began to dwindle, the crowd spreading down the quayside to stand, looking up at the great white wall that was the side of the ship – the RMMV Warwick Castle. People were already lining the rails of several levels of decking, and the odd streamer floated down. Near her a woman in a fox-fur tried to call up to someone, as a ceremonial military band started playing light music. Just as Fay began to worry that he had been held up, or something worse, she saw a figure running at full tilt from the train station entrance. It was him.