by Rosie Clarke
‘What are you thinking about?’ he asked suddenly. ‘Why the frown?’
‘I was wondering if we ought to leave. We don’t want to keep your mother waiting, Jon.’
‘No, of course not.’ He laughed. ‘I was told not to be late for lunch.’
‘We mustn’t keep you,’ Margaret said, and waved us away with a smile. ‘Now don’t worry about James, Emma. Nanny will see he eats his lunch, and I shall sit with him while he has his nap afterwards, as I always do.’
‘Don’t let him tire you then.’ I kissed her cheek. ‘I expect we shall be back by teatime.’
‘You look very well, Emma.’ Dorothy Reece smiled at me in her sad, wistful way. ‘It seems ages since I saw you, my dear.’
Immediately, I felt guilty. It was almost a month since I had last brought James to see her and Pops – known to the rest of the world as Sir Roy Armstrong.
‘Yes, I know,’ I apologized. ‘I’ve been so busy. Sol wanted me to produce a dress from start to finish, just to prove that I really understand what goes into the production of a finished garment. It was just a classic cut with a gored skirt and fitted waist, but I had to practise and study Mr Jackson’s work for several weeks …’
It was a weak excuse and we both knew it. The workshop was closed on both Saturdays and Sundays. I could visit every week if I chose, but the truth was I found Mrs Reece difficult to please. It wasn’t that she criticized me openly, but I was always aware of something … a look of disapproval or a lift of those fine brows.
She was a small, fragile woman who dressed in pretty, flowing gowns that made her look rather like a doll. However, I had soon discovered that beneath that wistful air was a very determined woman, a woman who usually knew how to get her own way.
‘Well, you are here now,’ she said with another of those smiles. ‘I’ve drawn up a list of guests I’ve invited. Most of them by telephone, Jonathan, since you insisted on such short notice …’ She frowned as she handed me the list. ‘You haven’t invited many friends, Emma. Are you sure you remembered everyone?’
‘I don’t have much family,’ I replied. ‘Just three uncles on my mother’s side, but they are scattered all over the place and Mum says not to bother inviting them. Sheila couldn’t leave the shop – but Mrs Henty is coming. I invited Mary and her husband, but she says it’s too far to come for a day and she can’t leave her father because he isn’t well. Mum and Bert are coming, of course, and Sol and Margaret. They are the only ones who really matter. I can send a piece of cake to the girls at work and a few other friends …’
‘Oh yes, the cake.’ Mrs Reece looked pleased with herself. ‘As you may imagine, wedding cakes are going to be in short supply, but I had made arrangements weeks ago. Your cake was already made and stored, Emma, and the icing sugar was bought and saved.’
‘She’s a clever girl,’ Pops said, beaming at us. ‘You should see the tinned food Dorothy has in the cellar. Fruit, salmon, ham … enough to feed an army, let alone a few wedding guests.’
‘I thought about it in advance,’ she said. ‘I didn’t need to rush out and spend all my sugar rations in one go. Not like that silly woman in the newspaper!’
‘You mean the one who was fined for being greedy and unpatriotic?’
‘Yes. So foolish. One only had to think, Emma. It was obvious months ago what was coming. I bought a little more than I needed every time I went shopping, and it has mounted up, that’s all.’
‘Don’t you believe her,’ Pops said, chuckling. ‘She has been like a general in the field preparing for a siege.’
I smiled and thanked Mrs Reece. She had been so determined to give us a splendid wedding. All I wanted was to marry Jon. If I were honest, I would have preferred a quiet ceremony and a small reception, but I didn’t want to spoil her pleasure.
‘You’ve been so kind,’ I said now. ‘I really will try to visit more often in future.’
‘But surely …’ She looked shocked. ‘You will be living here once you and Jonathan are married.’
‘No.’ I glanced at Jon. ‘Didn’t Jon tell you? We’ve decided to stay with Sol and Margaret for the time being. It’s easy for me to get to work from there, and James is settled. I don’t want to move him until Jon and I can find a home of our own.’
‘I did tell you, Mama,’ Jon said. ‘You might not have been listening, but I did tell you Emma wants to stay where she is for the moment.’
‘But surely Emma doesn’t need to work,’ she said. ‘Not when you are married. I had expected her to come here, to live with us. I was looking forward to it so much.’
‘Jon understands that I want to work,’ I said. ‘It is important to me. I’ve always been honest about this, Mrs Reece. I’m learning a trade. One day I hope to be in business for myself. I’m not sure whether I want to make clothes or sell them to the public, but working with Sol is teaching me so much …’
‘In business …’ She looked horrified. ‘But is that quite nice, Emma? In my day ladies didn’t … well, it wasn’t done. Respectable women just didn’t dabble in trade.’
Pops laughed. ‘Nor would you have wanted to work, Dorothy. But that doesn’t mean Emma shouldn’t. She is a very intelligent young woman. I think it’s a splendid idea. Why shouldn’t women run their own businesses if they choose?’
Mrs Reece frowned but made no further comments. She was forced to accept defeat this time, but I had a feeling that she was not going to give up the battle. She was used to having her own way.
‘Luncheon is ready, madam.’
The housekeeper’s announcement put an end to the discussion. After lunch we talked of other things. Pops gave us a beautiful silver tea and coffee service complete with its own tray, and Mrs Reece presented me with two sets of wonderful embroidered linen sheets and pillowcases, much nicer than anything I had been able to buy recently.
I thanked them both. Jon said we had to leave because of the fog, which was as bad as ever and didn’t look as if it would clear all day. He gave me a meaningful look as we went out to the car.
‘Thank goodness you didn’t cave in over living there, darling. I couldn’t put up with it. We’ll have to look for somewhere of our own when things calm down, but for the moment I think it best if you stay where you are. After all, I shan’t be around that often …’
‘No …’ I smiled at him. ‘Only two days and nights, then we’ll be together. Where are we going for our honeymoon?’
‘It ought to be Paris. That’s where I would like to take you, darling. One day I shall, I promise.’ He gave me a regretful look. ‘But it can’t be … but we’ll go somewhere.’
‘You’re not going to tell me?’
His eyes were bright with mischief. ‘It’s a surprise, darling.’
I nodded, my lips parting in anticipation as he leaned towards me. We kissed, a slow, lingering kiss that made me tingle with pleasure.
‘I can’t wait. Oh, Jon …’
‘We’ve waited this long,’ he said. ‘We’ll wait a bit longer …’
I found it difficult to sleep the night before my wedding. My dress was hanging in the wardrobe. Not white this time, but a simple plain ivory satin with long sleeves and a high neck.
Once before I had lain wakeful, thinking about marriage. I had been desperately unhappy then, carrying the child of the lover who had deserted me and forced by my father to marry a man I did not love.
What terrible results had come from that marriage! A man’s love – if Richard had ever truly loved me! – had turned to hatred. Greed and jealousy had played their part, and I had been caught between them.
How different were my feelings now. I wanted this marriage with all my heart. I was looking forward to being Jon’s wife. I loved him, but I also trusted him: he was my friend.
It was all going to be so wonderful! I could hardly wait for the moment we were alone at last.
The wedding itself was beautiful. I carried a small bouquet of snowdrops and lily of the valley, which Pops had grown
specially in pots under glass for me. The perfume of their delicate flowers was sweet, and the thought that had gone into Sir Roy’s loving gift to me was even sweeter.
Tears gathered in my eyes as I took my vows that morning. I was so lucky to have such good friends … people who loved and cared for me. I could hardly believe it was all happening. Life had been so hard, so bitter for a time, and now I had so much.
We were showered with confetti as bells rang out joyously, and then the wedding car was speeding through the damp streets to the reception.
So many of the guests were strangers to me. The thought occurred to me that this wedding was more for Mrs Reece than either Jon or I – that the people I met for the first time were her friends, not ours.
It did not matter. They were pleasant, kindly people and the gifts they had given us were generous: linen, silver, good china and expensive glass, quite different to the gifts I’d received on my first marriage. None of it was important. All that mattered was the look in Jon’s eyes when he smiled at me, and the certainty that I was loved.
At last, at long last, the taxi arrived to take us to the station. Jon had decided to travel by train rather than drive all the way up to Scotland. He had told me our destination the night before, warning me to pack plenty of warm clothes.
‘It’s going to be cold, darling,’ he’d whispered, ‘but not for us. I promise I shall keep you warm …’
We said goodbye to all our friends, kissing and hugging, thanking them for coming and for their good wishes and gifts.
‘Be happy, Emma,’ my mother said as she held me close. ‘You deserve happiness, my darling.’
‘I am happy, Mum. Jon loves me and I love him. I couldn’t ask for more.’
‘Be happy, Emma,’ Margaret said, ‘and don’t worry about James. He will be safe with us, and as loved as if he were our own.’
‘He loves you,’ I said. ‘Kiss him for me every night.’
‘Of course I will,’ she promised.
‘Be happy, Emma,’ Sol said, his eyes twinkling. ‘Take care of that man of yours. He is about as good as they come.’
Sol and Margaret had refurbished our bedroom for us, giving us the choice of whatever we wanted: a truly magnificent gift we would be able to treasure throughout our married life. But more than that, they had both given me so much support and love.
‘I know that, Sol,’ I said. ‘I’m so lucky in my friends …’
At the station, Jon bought magazines and chocolates for the journey. It would take several hours and he had booked a sleeper cabin for us. Now we were truly alone. The cabin door was closed and locked. We were man and wife, and as Jon reached for me I knew true happiness – and it was as if the past had never been.
The narrow beds in a sleeper cabin are perhaps not the most comfortable place to make love, but for me it was all we needed: with a few bumps of arms and legs and elbows, and some laughter, we managed. Jon was so sweet, and tender, so careful to give me pleasure.
I had never known a man to be so unselfish in his loving, but Jon was always the same in everything he did: he would not have known how to be any different.
‘You are so lovely, Emma,’ he whispered as he caressed my breasts, kissing me, teasing me with his tongue, setting me on fire. ‘I’ve dreamed of you like this, wanted you so much …’
‘And I want you, Jon,’ I said, kissing him back. I was no shy virgin to be afraid of love, but a woman who wanted to give her man the love he needed. ‘I do love you, Jon. So much … so very much.’
We came together, gently at first, a soft blending of hearts, minds and bodies, passionate but not desperate, not frantic. This was a new experience for me. It was as if we were somehow comfortable together, almost as though we had been married for some years, had always known each other’s thoughts and needs.
Afterwards, I felt warm, safe, loved. There had been no crashing of drums, no wild, tempestuous crescendo of feeling, just contentment.
I knew that it was possible to feel more excitement, but I was not disappointed as I nestled in my husband’s arms. Sexual desire was only a small part of what I felt for Jon. He had been so good to me, was so loving, so generous in all he gave of himself. I loved him and I wanted to make him happy. I wanted to be happy. I wanted quiet and contentment, the ordinary things of life … the respect decent people gave to each other every day.
I was ready to settle for what I had. It was so much more than I had ever had before.
Our days in the Scottish highlands were very precious: days of mists and bright clear mornings when the sun broke through, of dark nights and wood fires, and beauty that touched the soul.
Jon had rented a wonderful cottage where we could be alone. It was part of a large estate and set in huge grounds, with a lake, a mountain in the distance, purple and grand, smudged against the skyline, and gentle hills where deer roamed amongst the heather.
A gigantic hamper of food was waiting for us when we arrived. It was packed with all kinds of luxuries, from venison to pots of pates and peaches in jars of brandy syrup. Each day we were there, a man came down from the house with baskets of fresh provisions. Some of it was ready prepared, needing only to be reheated in the wood-burning oven, but there was also bacon, which I cooked for our breakfast, and fresh trout or salmon. Jon showed me how to poach these in a special fish kettle, and I discovered he was good at preparing these kinds of dishes. Yet another surprising aspect of this man who was so dear to me.
‘Where do you think all this food comes from?’ I asked Jon once. ‘Do they know there’s a war on?’
‘What war?’ Jon laughed. ‘Look around you, Emma. How can there be a war in such a perfect place?’
‘It is perfect,’ I said, leaning my head back against him as his arms surrounded me. ‘You were so clever to find it for us, Jon.’
‘I’ve been here before,’ he said, his breath warm against my ear. ‘For the fishing. It’s wonderful here in September, Emma. We’ll come again one day.’
‘Yes, please. I should love that.’
‘It would be wonderful to live in a place like this,’ Jon went on dreamily. ‘Don’t you think so, Emma? You said you wondered where the food comes from, but this estate must be almost self-sufficient, wouldn’t you think? They have so much game in their woods … deer, grouse at the right time of year, fish in the lake. I’m sure they live as people used to in the old days, make their own bread, milk their own cows …’
I turned to look up at him, gazing into his eyes as I heard the wistful note in his voice. ‘Is that how you would like to live, Jon? Away from all the noise and turmoil of the city?’
‘Sometimes I think it would be paradise,’ he replied and then laughed. ‘I’m a dreamer, Emma. Life isn’t that simple, is it? Even here they must have their serpent.’
I sensed something in him then … a kind of fear. What was Jon afraid of? I knew he hated the idea of war, of the wanton waste of life and destruction of all that made living good. Was he afraid of death – or that life would become too ugly?
‘Now what are you thinking?’ He lifted my chin with his finger. ‘Are you bored here, Emma? Would you rather I had chosen a city? Do you miss the noise of your beloved London?’
‘I think I might if I lived here all the time,’ I admitted. ‘I was born in a country town, Jon. I love the bustle of London. I love being able to go to a theatre when I want, and I love shopping – but this time here with you has been wonderful. Being together, walking, talking, listening to music on the radio when the fire is warm … I wouldn’t have changed it for anything.’
‘But we’ll spend the last two nights of my leave in London,’ Jon said. ‘I mustn’t be selfish. I want to please you, my darling. We’ll go to the theatre, and we’ll go shopping …’
‘Oh, Jon,’ I whispered as I turned in his arms to kiss him. ‘You could never be selfish …’
‘Don’t be too sure of that,’ he murmured as he bent his head to mine. ‘I want you so much, Emma. When a man lov
es a woman as much as I love you … pleasing her is selfish. I want to see your eyes light up, to see you smile and hear your laughter.’
I laughed then as he kissed me. Jon’s idea of being selfish seemed funny to me. I was beginning to realize there was so much more to this man I had married than I had yet guessed. He went so deep, his thoughts so complex, way beyond my understanding. I could not hope to follow all the secret, twisting trails of his mind. I knew only that he was a sensitive, loving, gentle man, and that I loved him.
When I thought about it, I realized we had met only a few times before our wedding. Jon had been there at a difficult period of my life. He had helped me when I needed a friend, but our meetings had been brief – apart from one holiday by the sea.
It took more than that to know a man like Jon. But we had a lifetime before us, and I was sure deep inside of me that he would be worth the knowing.
And so our lovely, special time drifted away, the days passing with a dreamlike quality as we walked the hills, the wind blowing fine, powdery snow into our faces when the weather turned colder, then racing back to the warmth of our cottage – to our bed. Was any woman ever as loved as I? Had lovers ever been so content as we were then?
All too soon, we were back in London. James wept as he saw me for the first time, and held out his arms to Margaret. I felt guilty as I saw the accusation in my son’s eyes. For several days I had almost forgotten him.
However, when he saw the teddy bear I had bought for him, he decided to forgive me. His arms closed about my neck, his tears drying as I held him to me and kissed his soft, baby curls and his face. He smelled so good, and I felt a wave of love for him.
‘Mummy is sorry,’ I whispered. ‘She won’t go away again, darling.’
‘We should have taken him with us,’ Jon said, a note of regret in his voice. ‘It was selfish of me, Emma. He loves you, too.’
We both knew it had not been possible. James could not have shared our idyll. It would not have been the same. Besides, we had needed that special time alone together. Jon had needed it, and for this once at least his needs had necessarily come before my son’s.
