‘Oh, Grace, I’m so sorry. And it’s led to all this—’ Jeremy was conscience-stricken at what his sister and brother-in-law had suffered because of his wilful daughter.
‘Don’t blame yourself, Jerry. If Cathy was pregnant, she isn’t any more. There was a lady doctor who was attending to her, but I couldn’t think of anything but my Alfred. There was certainly a lot of blood around, and the doctor sent a nurse for a special injection which she gave to Cathy. It might have been a miscarriage, Jerry, but that’s all I can say.’
‘Bloody hell,’ said Jeremy.
‘Look, Jerry, as soon as Alfred is ready to transfer to Basingstoke, I’ll go with him, and get out of your way.’
‘Good God, Gracie, you’re not in anybody’s way here.’
There was a pause while they looked at each other, and then Grace spoke again.
‘Jerry dear, you’ve got a lot on your plate right now, what with Denise and Roy, and I only wish I could help in some way, but – well, you know how it is with other people’s marriages. Outsiders just must not interfere.’
He sighed deeply. ‘Bless you, sis, you’ll be glad to get away from here. And glad that your marriage is so different from ours.’
‘Yes, but we didn’t have children, Jerry, which was a big disappointment to us.’
He laughed shortly. ‘And now you realise what a lucky break that was!’
It was coffee time in the doctors’ mess two days later. Paul Sykes was in a towering rage. ‘I’m absolutely incandescent!’
‘Why, what’s up?’ asked Dr Fisher.
Sykes spread out the Everham News on one of the tables. ‘Look at that!’
Right across the front page was the headline:
BRAVE DIANE MOURNS IN HER HOSPITAL BED
There was a photograph below it, showing Diane Devlin peeping over a mountain of flowers, cards and letters from well-wishers.
‘Wow! I say, that’s a bit over the top, isn’t it?’ one of the doctors remarked.
‘And that isn’t all. Look, here, inside!’
He turned a page, and there was Diane again, looking tragically into the camera. Two nurses stood one on each side of her, their hands upon her shoulders. The caption ran:
NURSES IN BEDSIDE VIGIL WITH HEARTBREAK DIANE
There was a murmuring among the onlookers, and glances exchanged.
‘Who took the pictures?’ he was asked.
‘It must have been that damned photographer who clicks on the newborns in Maternity, what’s his name, Roger somebody. God only knows how he got in. If I see him, I’ll strangle him.’
Dr Leigh McDowall studied the photograph. ‘What a villain, Paul, to force his way in to upset the lovely Diane – though I must say, she’s beautifully made up.’ He turned and left the mess before Sykes could come up with a rejoinder, and made his way to the antenatal ward, where both patients and staff were having mid-morning coffee.
‘Has anybody got an Everham News?’ he asked, and found that Tanya and Laurie were already poring over the pictures in a newspaper borrowed from a patient.
‘It must have been an inside job, one of those two nurses let him in, probably at night,’ said Tanya. ‘Oh, good morning, Dr Sykes! Coffee?’
Sykes, who had followed McDowall over from the mess, ignored her invitation, and said he was looking for the baby photographer. ‘And if those nurses were responsible for letting him in, I’ll have them reported to Daddy Brooks.’
Shelagh Hammond, quietly sipping coffee in a corner, asked him how Miss Devlin had taken the news of her fiancé’s death. He replied angrily, ‘That’s another reason why I object so much to this heartbreak stuff. The fact that he was still – er – married to somebody else, but was going through a divorce, should be entirely private. What a nerve, plastering details of her life all over the newspaper! The national tabloids will take it up next. I’ll throttle the bastard.’ He looked to Shelagh for support, but she put down her cup and beckoned to Laurie. ‘We’d better get on with those two ARMs, Nurse Moffatt.’
‘They’re all ready for you, doctor,’ replied the staff midwife. Artificial rupture of the membranes was an uncomfortable and quite painful procedure for the mother, but labour usually started within the next twenty-four hours, especially if the woman was overdue.
And it got Shelagh out of the office.
Elm Grove was a handsome, five-storey Edwardian house on the Everham Road, just south of the town. A hundred years ago it had been the residence of a wine merchant and his wife and five children which had increased to eight, with a hierarchy of servants.
Times had changed, and soon after the end of the Second World War, an enterprising estate agent had bought Elm Grove and turned it into three self-contained flats, plus the basement for storage and an attic for letting out to students. The spacious ground-floor flat, designated as Number One Elm Grove, now belonged to Iris Oates, and she had taken a week of her annual leave to be free for the all-important day of moving in, from her bedsitter in Everham.
‘The removal van will be coming on Tuesday,’ she told the choir members. ‘That will take the furniture, including my little piano, and they’ve left me six tea chests to pack all my belongings in.’
‘Six!’ exclaimed Phyllis Maynard. ‘Surely you won’t need that many.’
‘I didn’t think so, but when you think of what I must pack carefully in crumpled newspaper – clothes, shoes, bed linen, tablecloths and towels – kitchen utensils, crockery, cutlery, glassware, ornaments, pictures and photographs – and all my books—’
‘Stop! It sounds as if you’ll need all six chests,’ laughed Phyllis. ‘Well, I’ll be happy to come round and help with packing. Shall I come at ten o’clock on Tuesday?’
‘Oh, Phyllis, that would be so kind,’ said Iris. ‘I’ve got a nurse friend who’ll be able to come for a couple of hours in the afternoon, and another friend who’s a physiotherapist is coming in the evening – so it looks as if there’ll be willing hands enough, but I’d be most grateful if you could give me a little help. Thank you!’
‘And on the Wednesday there’ll be everything to unpack and put in its new place,’ Phyllis reminded her. ‘Count me in for that, too.’
‘And we’ll have a fish and chips supper, my treat, to show my appreciation,’ said Iris happily. ‘We’ll get it from Sammy’s, that shop in the square.’
With the move and the unpacking completed, Iris and her three helpers sat down to eat the supper that Phyllis had fetched in her car from Sammy’s.
‘Doesn’t it look cosy and homely with all the pictures and photos up?’ said the physiotherapist, and Iris’s heart beat a little faster. This would be a proper home, a place of her own to which she could invite friends. And of course she could ask Jeremy North to come here, with the benefit of being able to talk freely in privacy. And perhaps practise a hymn or a song or two, she thought, sitting at my little piano. What bliss! What absolute joy …
CHAPTER NINE
Summer 1963
May came in with the latest news of Diane Devlin’s progress at Everham Park Hospital; she had had two operations on her injured leg, and was still having to stay in bed to avoid any weight-bearing on it. She was able, with assistance, to leave her bed and be helped into a wheelchair, so that members of staff could wheel her to see other parts of the ward and chat with staff and other patients. When she acquired a stick resembling a shepherd’s crook, to which she tied a large pink bow, Mr Fielding started calling her Little Bo Peep.
At Everham Primary School and St Matthew’s church, there was tension in the air; Jeremy North’s face showed increasing strain, and when Rebecca Coulter asked him if he were ill, he shook his head and admitted that life was a bit difficult at present, but that it was nothing to do with the choir. Iris Oates looked on helplessly: should she invite him to visit her in her new home, and then perhaps he would confide in her, so that she might comfort him? The reason she did not was because she knew that such a meeting, such an opportunity, would lead
to an inevitable consequence, and there would be no way back. This was something that he must decide, not she; she was there for him when he needed her, that was all. So she stayed silent, her heart yearning for him.
Then, at choir practice one Thursday evening, Jeremy’s eyes were shadowed by dark rings beneath them, and his mouth was set in a grimly straight line, suppressing any tendency to tremble. For once he did not seem to be enjoying the music, and when the practice was over, he offered lifts to the ladies as usual; Phyllis and Rebecca squeezed into the back seat, and Iris was about to sit down in the passenger seat, but noticed Miss Johnson standing near them looking desperately unhappy, and felt she had no choice but to give up the seat to her, hoping that the three others in the car would encourage her to talk, and perhaps give her some comfort. She told Jeremy that she was perfectly happy to walk home on such a beautiful May evening, and they exchanged a wordless but meaningful glance.
Walking home while revelling in her own secret thoughts, anticipations and seemingly impossible dreams, she turned on the radio when she arrived, but was unable to concentrate on the news which continued to focus on the rumours around Westminster and Mr Macmillan’s government.
When the doorbell rang at half past nine, she rose and went to answer it with a trembling heart. She knew who would be standing on the doorstep, and held back the door to invite him in.
‘I can’t stand it any longer, Iris,’ he told her with a sort of quiet desperation. ‘So I’ve come to you. I don’t know where else to go. Will you let me stay?’
She held the door open, and he stepped over the threshold. She closed the door and drew the bolt across, then turned to him and held out her arms. He embraced her and kissed her cheek; then his lips found her eager mouth, and they stood locked together in a kiss that changed Iris Oates’ life, a kiss to drown in.
When at last they separated, she led him to the living room and invited him to sit down on one of the two armchairs. She went into the kitchen, and switched on the electric kettle, setting out two mugs on a tray.
‘D-do you want anything to eat – egg on toast, or—’ she began shakily.
‘No, tea’ll be fine, thanks.’
Such a mundane question and answer, no endearments, not even names, for there was no need for lovers’ talk. He had come to her and she had welcomed him into her home and her heart. And when he lay naked in her bed, she lay beside him, ready and willing for him to enter her body.
Jeremy knew her to be a virgin, and held himself back, not without difficulty, while he gently explored her with his forefinger and then a second finger, to open the entrance to her body. She gasped with pleasure, and hardly felt a brief spasm of pain; when he considered her to be ready, he inserted his swollen member, and within seconds they achieved climax together. For her it was so simple, so easy, the most natural thing in the world.
Daphne was waiting for her husband, the opened letter in her hand.
‘Right, this settles it, this is the last straw! Read it and deny it if you can, then show it to our solicitor and take this madwoman to court!’
Derek had half a mind to tell his wife that she had no right to open his mail; as a clergyman he had to keep the secrets of all who confided in him, but on this occasion she had recognised the handwriting and was about to take action. He looked at her hopelessly.
‘Have you heard what I said? If you won’t see reason, I’ll go and see Jamieson myself, and the Everham News – I’ll ask them to print it, so that everybody can read it. Will you answer me, please?’
‘Daphne, I’m sorry about this – and sorry for that poor woman—’
‘Poor woman my foot! Will you answer me now, this minute?’
‘All right, I’ll make an appointment with Jamieson as soon as he can see me.’
‘Today, if possible – and at the very latest, tomorrow.’
‘All right, Daphne, I’ll phone him now.’
‘Good. And you’d better keep this ridiculous letter with any others you’ve got, to use as evidence of harassment.’
He read the letter in his study. It was desperate indeed.
I cannot endure this emptiness, your stony face, your cruel words. I can neither eat nor sleep, I’m starving, I’m pining, I’m fading away. I cannot obey your order to stay away from all that makes my life bearable. Oh, Derek, love of my life, greater than my love for God, if he exists, which I’m not sure of, though I’d gladly worship him if he would soften your heart towards me. I respect your wife and her legitimate demands on you – but even she could hardly begrudge me a word, a touch, a smile, anything to show me mercy. I go to bed at night, and can no longer imagine your arms around me because you have withdrawn yourself from me. I’m the sorrowing woman in the Song of Songs:
‘By night on my bed I sought him whom my soul loveth. I sought him, but I found him not. I opened to my Beloved, but my Beloved had withdrawn himself and was gone. I sought him, but I could not find him. I called, but he gave me no answer.’
Oh, let these words speak to you, touch you, make you relent, my only love.
And he was about to betray her – and might find himself in a storm of gossip like that now surrounding Jeremy North – or like the persisting rumours of an illicit affair between a government minister and a young blonde model who was also entertaining a Russian diplomat, which might constitute a security risk. The minister concerned had stood up in the House of Commons to deny the rumours, but the newspapers continued to be full of it.
Over coffee and toast, Jeremy told Iris how his life had worsened in the North household.
‘My younger daughter has miscarried, due to the road accident, thank heaven, but the elder – my daughter Denise—’ He could not go on.
‘Don’t be afraid to tell me, Jeremy,’ she said softly. ‘I already know that she’s carrying twins.’
‘You know? Oh, yes, of course, from the hospital. When Fiona told me just as I got home, I lost control of myself, and we had a bitter row. I blamed her to her face that she’d ruined the children and our marriage with it. She asked what the hell was I talking about, and why I was so unloving towards our children. That was when I said, “Our children? Do you mean that useless drunk we call our boy, and those couple of sluts we call our girls?”’
‘And what happened then, Jeremy?’ she asked quietly.
‘She went for me like a wildcat – see this scratch under my eye? She clawed at me, she pulled at my hair, she tried to kick me in the crotch – I had to fend her off as well as I could, she was screaming her head off, and I thought of Peter-poppet upstairs, perhaps hearing it – so I shot out of the back door, and – and – oh, Iris, what shall I do?’
‘Stay here, of course, Jeremy. Move in with me while you decide what best to do. Oh, Jeremy my love, stay with me for as long as you like – forever!’
‘Dearest Iris, how can I ever repay such kindness—’
‘Kindness has nothing to do with it, Jeremy,’ she replied truthfully. ‘It’s my pleasure, my joy, my love for you, my happiness because you’ve come to me.’
As May progressed, the ongoing saga of Jeremy North and Miss Oates continued to rage. Opinions were divided as to who was most to blame, and those who, like Mary Whittaker, considered the headmaster’s behaviour unforgivable expected that he would be discharged from his duties at Everham Primary. She and others reckoned without his popularity with pupils, staff and parents, and while not condoning the fact of his leaving his family to live illicitly with another woman, they hoped that the situation would be resolved, as they did not want to lose him. The parishioners of St Matthew’s were also in two minds about what should happen to the talented choirmaster; the choir continued to meet and practice on Thursday evenings, though their soprano Iris ceased to attend.
‘If there are those who don’t want to sing in the same choir as myself, Jeremy, I’ll settle their dilemma for them, and stay away,’ she told him, though he begged her to stay, for the sake of her sweet soprano voice, the best in the choir.<
br />
‘There may come a time when I shall feel able to join again,’ she said, ‘but for now it’s best if I stay away, to save embarrassment.’
‘I’m not embarrassed, Iris,’ he said. ‘Let them say what they like about us.’
‘But some of them will be embarrassed, and the vicar will be criticised for tolerating us,’ she replied, refusing to change her mind. She continued to attend church regularly, but refrained from partaking of Holy Communion, as did Jeremy, to Derek Bolt’s relief, because as vicar he could not countenance open and unashamed adultery. His own private thoughts were very different, knowing Jeremy’s domestic situation as he did. He gave no public opinion, and when directly approached and asked to say what he thought and where he stood as regards Mr North, he replied that only God must be the judge. He knew that when his case against Beryl Johnson for harassment came up in court, he too would be at the centre of a scandal, albeit of a different kind, and to take a high moral stand against Jeremy North would lay himself open to a charge of rank hypocrisy. In the town, Fiona North had no compunction whatever in letting her husband’s perfidy be known to all who would listen.
The Education Department of Everham Borough Council sent for Jeremy to question him, but not to condemn him out of hand. They had no wish to lose an excellent headmaster, and there was no suitable person, male or female, to take over the headship at the present time. At the end of the interview the Education Committee made him wait outside the boardroom while they discussed his case among themselves; and by a vote of three to one decided to leave him in his post until the end of the school year in July, in the hope that circumstances might have changed by then, and he restored to his family and responsibilities as a husband and father.
Shelagh Hammond and Paul Sykes had reopened their caravan at Netheredge, but had not yet used it themselves; they had let it out to friends and acquaintances for early holidays. Both of them were busy at their work, and had not yet had the same time off together, even for just one night. Shelagh was not sorry; Bridget had been showing signs which indicated that her time of remission was coming to an end, and Shelagh could not risk leaving her for a night. She wanted Paul to visit her mother again, and reassure her of their engagement, to become official at midsummer, but the days went by without an opportunity, and he confessed that he was reluctant.
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