‘No, it’s all right, Edie,’ Tom said gently. ‘Your father is correct to ask me to leave. And I will go, but not before I have an opportunity to ask a question.’
‘Go ahead,’ Abe said. ‘Ask me anything,’ he challenged, his jaw suddenly sticking out as if he was determined to wrestle back control in his household.
‘It is not a question for you, Abe,’ Tom admitted. ‘My question is for Edie.’ He turned now and regarded her. She could feel his will urging her to look up and meet his gaze. She did so, convinced the rapid drumbeat of her heart could be heard by all and momentarily dizzied by its insistence.
‘Edie, will you marry me?’
It should not have been a shock for her and yet as he posed his question so earnestly – those dark blue eyes of his as stormy and exciting as she could recall – she realised she couldn’t speak for the emotion that choked in her throat. But over the top of Ben’s shocked words claiming, ‘What did you say?’, his mother’s sudden shriek of rage and her father’s protestations, she nodded and smiled over the helpless tears of joy that watered.
Finally, her voice came, strong and steady. ‘Yes, Tom,’ she replied. ‘I will marry you.’
_______________
It had been a risk. But given his success gambling on Pretty Penny, Tom had decided his luck was running and there would never be an easy time to ask for Edie’s hand in marriage. In fact, he’d convinced himself as he climbed those stairs to the Valentine household that it might even be best coming out in a rush and seeing what happened.
He’d already accepted that Abe could have sent him off on an errand that might get him lost, so he’d taken a disc of tailor’s chalk with him that he’d seen in the workroom. As he walked he’d left surreptitious markings on walls, pavements – even on a lamppost – that would guide him back to the woman he loved. Abe could never know just how much Tom loved Edie and that if it took his last breath, he would have given it to find her, to come back for her. And today, when Alf had gleefully presented him with his winnings, he knew this would be the opportunity to prove he could take care of Edie. Plus he still had his lucky half sovereign.
When he’d arrived back at the apartment he saw Benjamin Levi sitting in the place he had occupied only the night before. Glimpsing the relief in Edie’s eyes that he’d made it home safely, Levi’s innocently smug attitude and Abe’s pointed remark about him frequenting a pub only strengthened his resolve. He knew asking Edie to marry him brought a raft of problems to her life, not the least of which was betraying her faith . . . certainly in the eyes of the people who surrounded her. He was prepared to convert to Judaism if that would help, but he didn’t bother offering for somehow Tom didn’t think even that would be enough for Abe Valentine.
So while he could feel Abe’s despair and hear Levi’s jabbering confusion, his mother’s horror above them both, all he could concentrate on was Edie’s murmured agreement to his question and the joy that lit her expression. He took Edie’s hand now and without asking anyone’s permission, he kissed it softly and in that second, as his lips caressed her skin, he knew he would never be alone again.
Someone had finally claimed him.
9
EPPING, JULY 1920
Edie stared at her husband’s slackened expression of sleep from the vantage of her pillow. His dreams had become so much more peaceful since their wedding. She could remember hearing him cry out in his sleep from his room in Golders Green, and when she’d asked him about it, he’d shrug and say he didn’t remember. Or she’d wake to the sound of her father and Tom talking in hushed tones in the early hours. Edie knew that Abe sympathised, and gave Tom company at those lonely times. Edie sighed with quiet gratitude, for since that painfully awkward confrontation with Ben, her father had resigned himself to the reality that she would marry the newcomer in their life. Abba had found a way to swallow his pride, and for her sake had made it easy on Tom. She knew her father was not yet fully convinced that Tom wouldn’t let her down, and yet he’d watched her bloom in every way since that night.
And now she was about to give him a grandchild. More than anything in the world, Abe wanted more Valentines, and the fact that a new generation was beginning pleased his aching heart, reassured his private anxiety and restored his faith in life. She was sure when she’d shocked the household that evening by brazenly accepting Tom’s offer of marriage in front of Benjamin, and adding to her oldest friend’s humiliation by throwing herself into Tom’s arms, that her father had finally believed life’s turns were determined to torment, or perhaps even kill, him.
‘You’d make yourself an outcast for a gentile?’ Ben had stated, clearly rattled as he had been so confident of seeing Tom off, with her father’s support.
Edie remembered how she’d smiled sadly at them while she felt Tom’s large hand embracing hers. ‘No. You are the ones who make me an outcast.’
‘Must be one of those shotgun weddings,’ Dena had hissed as they’d gathered up their belongings to leave.
Abe had gasped at the insinuation, glanced horrified at Edie, who had shaken her head to reassure him. She replied simply, ‘I am doing my best friend a favour. You will see, Benjamin,’ she’d said, ignoring his mother now. ‘When you truly fall in love you will know how different this feels.’
And from that moment her father had seemed to grasp fully how Edie felt about Tom. Any underlying hostility, no matter how passive it had been, Abe banished and the wedding had been a joyous event that was deliberately kept small for Tom’s sake.
Abba had, surprisingly, been a picture of happiness and she wished with all of her heart she had a photograph of the three of them together but a fire that had burned down the studio and the sweet shop next door had taken her wedding plates with it. She hoped this would be rectified soon with baby photos. But the truth was she needed no photo of Tom, for every angle and line of his face she had sculpted into her memory. She noticed he had begun using scissors to trim his beard a little closer and keep it neat, which she appreciated but didn’t mention. She didn’t ever want to be one of those nagging wives.
She studied his face again, noticing the dark lashes that lay against his cheeks and the thick crescents of his eyebrows that she liked to kiss. ‘Like furry caterpillars,’ she’d once whispered as they soaked together in the bath. Edie recalled how she’d lain back against his broad chest, safe in his arms, floating on top of his thighs, both cocooned in a womb of deliciously warm water while a frosty, spring Sunday morning was heralded by the village’s church bells.
‘The bells make this feel a bit naughty,’ he’d whispered.
‘Only for a gentile,’ she’d replied and sighed as he’d nudged aside her damp hair to kiss her neck while his hands cupped her breasts, his fingers teasing at her nipples. Edie remembered how she’d groaned softly then, needing him inside her but not wanting to rush the pleasurable anticipation. But it seemed Tom did, for his hands were seeking out new amusement, his kisses becoming harder, more urgent.
Edie remembered now how she’d swivelled around in the water to face him, desperately wanting to hold him, to look at the love in his eyes. She had promised herself repeatedly that she would never take his love for granted. She would cherish it, make it precious, always return it.
‘We must go on a proper honeymoon when we can afford to,’ Edie said.
‘Where? Name the place.’
‘Paris,’ she sighed, before adding, ‘then Venice.’
‘On the train?’
‘Slowest way there so I can enjoy you right across Europe,’ she teased.
‘New York can wait, eh?’ he said, knowing that she often talked about visiting that city.
‘Everything can wait. Take me back to bed.’
Barely towelling themselves dry, they’d tumbled back into their bed, which had retained their body warmth, and they stilled their inevitable shivering with skin on skin beneath the heavy blankets until the trembling stopped and the lovemaking began. It was that Sunday morning that
Edie was sure they’d created their child.
She smiled now in memory, staring at Tom’s even, symmetrical and perfectly shaped lips. She wanted that mouth on her now, and in moments like these she caught herself in wonder at her desire for this man. For a woman who had kept such tight control over her passions, Tom had been like a key fitting into her lock and opening the lid on the real Eden Valentine. How lucky she was to have been presented with Tom. How easy it would have been to dismiss his cheeky offer in the hospital grounds that day.
‘Life’s strange, isn’t it?’ Tom murmured sleepily without opening his eyes.
She smiled, realising he knew she’d been watching him. ‘Is it?’ she whispered.
‘Just imagine if I hadn’t been sitting on that bench outside the hospital as you happened to walk by.’
‘Oh, Tom. I was just having the same thought.’
‘That’s because we’re one,’ he said in a gritty, morning voice. He pulled her close and she did kiss him now. Softly and lightly, not wanting him to wake fully. Then she turned so Tom could cup his body around hers and she could feel his full, sleepy warmth down the length of her body. She snuggled tighter, pulled his arm around her, and naturally it caressed her ripe belly, tight as a drum. She felt a twitch of movement behind her and grinned.
‘Tom,’ she warned. ‘This is a big day.’
‘You’re telling me,’ he groaned. ‘I’ve never felt this big.’
Edie convulsed with laughter. ‘No!’
‘Oh, come on. Send me off with a lovely —’
‘Tom! No. I’m going to make you a huge breakfast for your first trip alone into London and you can save those um . . . big plans, for tonight.’
‘My reward?’ he drawled.
She risked a peck but pulled away quickly. ‘Our celebration that you did it . . . conquered the demons!’ She leapt as nimbly out of bed as her new bulk would permit before he could grab her. ‘Shower. Breakfast will be ready in fifteen minutes.’
He sighed and rolled over. ‘Right. But we have a date tonight in this bed.’
‘Or even the bath . . .’ she said, cutting him a coquettish grin.
_______________
Tom looked up from his newspaper as she poured his tea. ‘How are you feeling today?’ he asked.
‘A bit tired. But I was told to expect that. He’s been kicking for hours. He’s a restless soul.’
‘He?’
She smiled. ‘I guess we’ll know in a few weeks.’
‘You should tell me if you’re not sleeping,’ Tom said, closing the paper and giving her his full attention.
‘And what can you do?’ she teased.
‘I could rub your back for you. I could sing to our child.’
‘Oh no,’ she said, feigning horror. ‘You have a terrible voice – you’d make the poor mite squirm even more.’
He clutched his heart. Edie laughed again and tried to wriggle away from his grasping hands. ‘Oh no, you don’t. Where’s my morning kiss?’
She loved these moments and knew the time was fast approaching when their selfish, wonderful existence would be profoundly changed. She appreciated how children shifted the focus in a marriage and suddenly that euphoric, youthful effervescence of being unable to stop touching the man you loved turned to a desire to wrap your hands around the precious child he’d given you and not let go.
‘Again,’ he urged, always hungry for her affection.
Edie kissed him longer this time, reluctant to pull away.
‘Now, really mean it,’ he said when she did.
This time they kissed slowly, deeply; Tom pulled her onto his lap, making a low sound of pleasure, and stroked her belly, her breasts, until she gave a soft sigh.
‘Tom . . .’ she groaned.
‘I know. Tonight.’
They both shared an affectionate smile.
‘No, I was going to say I can’t imagine that I could ever love a child more than I love you.’
‘I can’t imagine it either,’ he said and she hugged him as close as her belly allowed, burying her face into his neck. She inhaled Tom – he smelled of soap froth and Brilliantine, which he used sparingly to slick back the thick dark hair that had grown since they’d met. He no longer looked like a returned soldier with that close-cut short back and sides. Now he looked like a film star, she thought fancifully . . . if not for the beard.
Mercifully his terror of loud sounds had eased and while Tom still did not enjoy crowded places, he was growing more reliable and emotionally steady with each passing day. Edie had accepted that the still slightly haunted look in his eyes was an aspect of her husband that might never leave him.
‘I’m going to speak to your father about when you’re giving up work.’
‘Don’t,’ she said. ‘I’ll do it.’
‘I’ve told you that he can live with us. Epping is hardly a long way away and I wouldn’t mind.’
‘I know, but he’s not going to leave Golders Green. Besides, he’s an old man now. Set in his ways and used to being head of his own house.’ She nodded at the cup nearby. ‘Drink your tea. It’s nearly time.’
‘Well, he can’t be too set in his ways – he’s about to have a grandchild arrive in his life.’
She gave a happy sigh.
Tom drained his cooled tea. He stood and hugged her from behind. ‘Let’s call him Daniel if we have a boy; Nina if it’s a girl.’
Edie swung around in his embrace. ‘Do you mean that?’ she asked.
‘Why not? They’re both lovely names . . . family names. I like the idea of a family name.’
‘Are you still glad you took mine?’ She searched his face.
‘Edie, I swear you’re still looking for the chink in my armour that is going to shatter me into a million pieces.’
She looked down and smiled self-consciously. ‘I do. I always think of you as a gift from the angels.’
‘And what they give, they can easily take away . . .’ He trailed off. ‘I know the saying. Your father repeats it enough.’
She grinned. ‘Really? Daniel or Nina?’
He kissed her. ‘Shall I write it in blood?’
Edie swiped at him, then her face contorted. ‘Oooh,’ she grimaced. ‘Little rascal. Feel him,’ she said, reaching to place Tom’s hands on the small, neat bulge protruding between them.
He waited and then beamed her a proud smile. ‘He might play for England!’
‘Our new FA Cup Champions. Aston Villa?’
‘No! Manchester United, of course.’
‘Why, when you live just outside London?’
He grinned and shrugged. ‘Don’t know. A throwback, perhaps.’
‘You don’t come from the north. We agreed on that.’
Tom gave an expression showing he didn’t care. ‘The mystery of my past no longer intrigues me. I’m not interested to know who I was. I’m only concerned with who I am now.’ He pointed at Edie. ‘Your husband.’ He lowered his finger to point at her swollen belly. ‘His or her father.’ Then he turned the finger on himself. ‘Soon to be self-made and disgustingly wealthy, outrageously dashing —’
‘And sometime modest bookkeeper,’ she cut in.
‘What time is your father arriving?’
‘The train gets in by five, I think. Certainly before sundown. You know the rules.’
‘Well, I shall try not to be late tonight but as I’m not Jewish and make no pretence to be, please explain to him that I’m not being disrespectful about Shabbat. It’s just that I have a surprise for you.’
‘And what’s that?’ Edie said, reaching her arms around him.
‘Well, I think I’m finally going to take the plunge and shake up Savile Row.’
She sucked in a thrilled breath, eyes shining with astonished pleasure. ‘Truly?’
He nodded. ‘It’s high time. I’m weary of the buyers coming to your father’s shop and purchasing our cloth in dribs and drabs. I’ve been slack and otherwise distracted,’ he said, pecking her head. ‘But
we’ve got a lot still to shift and what we need right now is a solid injection of cash. I want to make the trip count rather than just be a test of my ability to travel alone.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, I plan to load the cloth onto the wagonette and it will all be sold to Savile Row in a single swoop.’
‘All of it?’ she asked.
‘Yes. Solly Goldman has organised it with me, and with full sanction from your father,’ Tom added.
‘It’s your cloth, Tom. You bought it fair and square. You don’t need Abba’s permission.’
He shrugged. ‘To be fair, we’ve been living off the proceeds since the wedding so I’m not complaining, but I want to cash in.’
‘Is now a good time, then?’
‘Yes, although most wouldn’t think so. Perhaps not even Abe, but I feel it instinctively.’
‘Perhaps, Tom, you were once involved in business.’
‘A runner on the stocks floor, maybe? Numbers and money do make sense to me.’
‘And fine clothes,’ she reminded archly. They shared a smile before Edie grew more serious. ‘Abba says a depression is coming.’ She tried not to make it sound like a challenge to his instinct.
‘I suspect it is if you consider what is happening politically and industrially . . . and the problems in Ireland don’t help. But the sort of people having their suits tailored at Savile Row aren’t short of a bob. They will be robust in a time of crisis because they are financially savvy and have the “fat” to protect them. They won’t stop the privileges they allow themselves but they may cut down or choose a less expensive option.’ He shrugged. ‘The rich don’t like to lose face, Edie, particularly those who move and shake in London.’
‘I don’t know how you know these things, Tom.’
He blew his cheeks out. ‘Intuition, I suppose. We all have our gifts.’
‘So you’re thinking that if you can sell the remaining cloth at once you’ll make a small fortune in one swoop because the price will be irresistible?’
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