Enduring Passions (11 page)

For a few seconds she let his hand, skin rough against her softness, caress the throbbing tip, her breathing more and more laboured.

Through the silk material of her nightdress she was suddenly aware of the effect she was having on him and, scared and excited all at the same time, she pulled his hand free, kissed him again – on the forehead, and fled back to her room. Over her shoulder she called, ‘Tom, I love you.’

She closed the door, got into bed and pulled the sheets quickly up over her head.

She lay there trembling until, eventually, exhausted, she went to sleep.

Tom was on his back looking up in the dark at the unseen ceiling,
waiting
until his blood cooled, not daring to move.

She came to very slowly, eyeing the room without any real sense of
change. It was only when she moved, and found her legs entwined in a knot of sheets and blankets that she realized that something was wrong.

Her lips were dry. When she ran her tongue over them they were tender and slightly swollen.

Sitting upright one of her breasts felt sore.

And then it all came back, and with it a tremendous feeling of
humiliation
. What had he thought of her? She’d behaved like an alley cat.

Fay got out of bed and pulled on her dressing-gown, tempted to dress immediately.

Timidly she turned the handle and eased the door open, peering round to see him.

The sofa was empty. She crept into the room, one hand holding the top of her robe tightly around her neck.

‘Tom?’

There was no reply. She advanced further into the room. It was empty, and the bathroom door was open.

He’d gone.

Devastated she cried, ‘Tom’ again, in despair. He’d left her. He must have been disgusted at her behaviour. She slumped down on the empty sofa and felt the tears welling up in her eyes.

What
had
she done? She just sat there, devastated.

A tap came on the door, and a maid’s voice called, ‘Room Service.’

Fay stumbled to the door and opened it to find a maid holding a silver tray with teapot, cup and rack of toast. But she only had eyes for the rose lying across the middle. The girl came in and set the tray down on the table. ‘Sir Tom says he is waiting for you in the breakfast-room, but that there is no need to hurry, he has coffee and the morning papers.’

Fay’s jaw dropped.

‘Will there be anything else, madam?’

‘No. No thank you.’

The girl turned to go.

‘Oh – yes, there is.’

The girl paused, waited expectantly.

‘Could you take a message to
Sir Tom
, say I’ll be as quick as I can but, I haven’t had my bath yet … oh, and thank him for being here for
breakfast
– tell him I thought….’

‘Yes, madam?’

‘Nothing – just that.’

Fay sang in her bath, sang as she dressed, sang as she applied a little
make-up and lipstick. Satisfied she skipped down the staircase and headed for the breakfast-room.

He was sitting at a window table for two, paper propped against his coffee pot, one elbow on the crisp white table cloth, reading intently. As she approached he looked up, grinned, and stood up. With outstretched hands he took both of hers and kissed her on her cheek.

‘Good morning, Fay.’

Beaming she raised an eyebrow. ‘Good Morning,
Sir Tom
, you do rise early don’t you?’

‘Working people usually do.’

He held her chair whilst she sat down and couldn’t resist another kiss into her sweet smelling hair.

She whispered to him. ‘I thought I’d upset you when I couldn’t find you. I don’t know what came over me, last night.’

He leant forward, just inches from her face. ‘You certainly did upset me, Fay.’ When he saw her look of horror, he chuckled. ‘If you’d stayed a second or two longer we would have had to get married
this
morning.’

She knew she was blushing, but grinned with relief. ‘You’re looking smart.’

‘Thank you, I borrowed a shaver from the porters.’ He grinned. ‘If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.’

Fay shook her head in disbelief and indicated the hotel with a wave of her hand. ‘You don’t care any more about all this, do you?’

‘Nope.’ He became serious. ‘Fay, how do you feel this morning – about us I mean?’

She anxiously searched his face. ‘Are you changing your mind?’

Tom smiled weakly. ‘No – you know I’m not. It’s just—’

He hung his head, ‘You haven’t got a ring and I can’t afford one.’

‘Is that all?’

‘Well, that’s pretty basic. If we’re engaged you should have a ring.’

It dawned on her then how upset he was. ‘Listen, Tom, I love you, you love me, we’ve decided we’re going to get married. That’s what being engaged means. The bloody ring can wait.’

The blasphemy coming from her sweet lips was a powerful jolt to his senses.

‘Fay – I will get you one. I swear.’

Matter-of-factly – she nodded. ‘I know and I will be proud to wear it.’

To their relief Fay was not required again that morning.

They went to the Tower, then the Bridge, standing in the middle
looking
at the Pool of London. It was crowded with merchant ships from all over the world. Lighters and barges lay alongside each other and derricks and cranes rose and fell on the wharves. They looked like giant birds feeding their young as they laboured to load and unload the goods going out to, or coming in from the Empire, on which the sun never set.

The breeze played with her hair. Several times she had to lift a strand from her eye.

‘Tom, are you coming back on the same train as me?’

He was leaning on the parapet beside her. ‘I thought you might not like that….’

‘Why not?’

He half turned, resting on one arm. ‘It’s a small world. You risk being seen with me. Tongues would wag. Are you ready for that?’

She pulled her coat lapels tighter around her against the cold breeze and slipped her arm into his, guiding him back towards the Tower.

‘I suppose not.’

She immediately stopped walking.

‘Sorry – that sounded awful. It’s nothing to do with you, it’s just that if there were any hint of impropriety it would be such a shock. Even if it were Jeremy.’

She knew that wasn’t entirely true – her father would probably react to
that
news by getting out a bottle of the Pol Roger
and
his shotgun. But Jeremy would redeem himself; asking for her hand – in the old world style. Her parents, too, still had the manners of an earlier time; after all, they’d both been born in the nineteenth century.

She searched his face, but he didn’t seem to have taken offence.

Fay resumed walking. ‘Darling, we’ve all the time in the world. When we’re ready we’ll tell them together – and you can ask Father formally if you like.’

She giggled.

‘After all, he’s got to give me away. I become
your
chattel then, don’t I?’

‘Sure do.’

She hit him on the arm.

Tom knew he’d changed. It was like a miracle, but now he had all the self-possession and confidence that had been sadly lacking before. It was her, he instinctively knew that. With Fay he had left the boy in him behind.

As a man he was calm, almost detached. Things would happen – and that was that – or he’d know why.

‘I’ll come back home with you now if you want. Or I’ll wait, since I’m not a good financial catch. But I’ll make you happy, one way or another.’

He took her firmly by both shoulders. ‘And if you ever do what you did last night again – you’ll have to accept the consequences – and they won’t be pretty.’

In the startled silence before they both started laughing, a great klaxon sounded from the direction of the docks.

They boarded the early evening express to Gloucester that stopped at Kemble. While she settled into their first-class carriage, he popped along to the front to see what was hauling them, realizing as he did so that small bits of boyhood remained. It was a Hall class. He chatted for a moment to the driver. Exactly on time they eased out from under the great canopy, and slid at a steadily increasing rate through the western suburbs of London, gliding smoothly through commuter stations, occasionally lurching over points, signal gantries whispering by.

With a bang of compressed air and the hiss of steam, a train in the opposite direction was gone in seconds.

They held hands. There was nothing else to say. Just before Kemble, he lowered the blinds on the windows to the corridor and they sat
kissing
and just holding on to each other.

When the train began to pass down the length of the platform, he stood up and got down her case.

‘Are you being met here?’

‘No, I’m getting the connection to town. I’m being picked up from there. And you?’

He shrugged. ‘Something will be going to Cheltenham.’

As they ground to a halt he swung her case on to the platform where a porter stood with his barrow.

‘This lady is for the Cirencester connection.’

‘Very good, sir. It’s just across there, madam.’

He pointed to the branch line platform and pushed his barrow in that direction.

Tom faced her. ‘We’ve left it a bit late, but when shall I see you again?’

‘I’m free Saturday evening, but Sunday’s out – it’s always church and family.’

He groaned. ‘I’m playing in a band on Saturday night. I need the extra
money for the lessons, but I could cancel, though it would leave them in the lurch.’

She wouldn’t hear of it. ‘I’m free on the Monday all day. Is that any good?’

Tom desperately tried to think.

‘I’m due a day in lieu of Christmas working, but whether I can have it then….’

The guard’s whistle blasted. Their time had run out. She gave him a hurried kiss.

‘Telephone me on Friday – at exactly five o’clock. I’ll be by the phone. Daddy won’t be back from The House till later.’

A porter came along slamming doors and reached theirs. ‘Sorry, sir.’

He jumped on, pulling at the leather strap to drop the window as he shut the door and leaned out.

‘Do I know your number?’

She came nearer. ‘Cirencester 103 – or ask the operator for Codrington Hall, it’s on the letter I sent if you’ve still got it?’

The whistle blasted again and with a jerk they began to move. He patted his wallet pocket and called out, ‘I’ve got it next to my heart.’

She stood on the platform waving and blowing kisses as he leaned out of the window doing the same. Slowly they pulled out until the tiny figure on the platform was lost in a cloud of steam.

When it dispersed they had gone around a curve and the station was no longer in view.

His parents noticed a difference in their son almost straightaway. When he went to work on Wednesday, his mother turned to his father.

‘Told you. He’s suddenly stronger, seems to know his own mind.’

His father grunted, took the pipe from his mouth. ‘’Bout bloody time he grew up.’

His mother jabbed him in the ribs. ‘Less of the swearing.’

His father grunted, then lapsed into a paroxysm of coughing. When he’d finished, he spat into a large, discoloured jug and said, ‘There’s a woman, bet your bottom dollar and that always means trouble.’

She shook her head. ‘You always look on the black side.’

But she did agree with his assessment. She wondered what the girl was like. Would she be good to her boy and a friend to his mother? The ‘girl’ was just sitting up in bed, sipping the tea the maid had brought, and thinking about her day – another one without him. There had been no word from any of the auditions she’d attended. The
mid-week
hunt was out at twelve. Restless with pent up energy and
frustration
, she’d ordered Jenny ready for eleven.

She looked out of the window. There were raindrops trickling down the panes and the skies beyond were the colour of Welsh slate.

She would have a bath, get on her breeches, ride to hounds, then bathe again before dinner. That way another day would be over with.

Tom was striding down the platform at Birmingham New Street, hand firmly on the collar of a gentleman who had been running a playing-card scam. He glanced anxiously at his watch.

The smiling prisoner, with the clipped military moustache, exuded charm and confidence. Looking up at him from under the rim of his brown trilby, he said, ‘If you’re in a hurry we could do this some other day.’

Tom gave him a good-natured shake. ‘Quiet, you.’

All the same, he didn’t dislike the rogue. Anyone daft enough to play cards with a stranger on a train deserved all he got.

The man had to be taken to the nearest police station and charged – all time consuming. He wanted to be back in Cheltenham, off duty, and at Staverton airport with at least two hours of flying time left. He glanced up at the sky. The clouds were leaden. Maybe there would be no lesson today even if he did make it.

Sergeant Whelan, dressed in full uniform with medals because of a court appearance as a witness, was writing in his meticulous hand with a scratchy pen when Tom walked in.

‘Ah, there ye are.’

‘Sergeant?’

The pen was placed down carefully, the thick eyebrows meeting like two furry caterpillars. ‘If you’re expecting fulsome praise, forget it….’

Tom was dismissive. ‘I’m not, Sergeant. Just tell me I can go …’

The bluntness made Whelan’s eye bulge. What in the mother of God had come over Roxham? From being a rather shy fellow, though handy when it came to the rough stuff, he’d turned overnight into a forceful somewhat insubordinate character. He’d seen a few of them on the Western Front. They were always over the top first. Not many of them had made it back, at least, not in one piece.

‘Is it this flying business again?’

‘It is, with the Civil Guard.’

Whelan sighed. ‘Very well, ye’d best be on yer way – I can see you won’t be any more use to me today.’

‘Thank you, Sergeant.’

The undisguised relief in Tom Roxham’s voice irritated him. ‘You be in here tomorrow, Constable, at seven thirty sharp – ye hear?’

‘Yes, Sergeant.’

Tom didn’t wait for Whelan to change his mind, he was out of there and on his bike in a flash.

The Master had blown the Tally-Ho and they were now in full pursuit, over forty horses and riders at the gallop, jumping the Cotswold
dry-stone
walls and hedges, climbing the steep hills and splashing through the valley streams.

Another fence came up, the horses in front of her taking off, back legs kicking out, clods of Gloucestershire earth flying up into the air.

The white breeches of a man in pink came out of the saddle, then back with a thump.

She lined up with the fence, feeling the body of her mount tensing. With a surge of power that never failed to thrill her, they took off like a rocket. For a second she seemed to be flying, free of gravity, high in the air, not a care in the world. The moment passed, and with a bone jarring crash she came back to earth. Jenny stumbled, checked, and found her feet again. The chase continued.

Behind her Jeremy had watched her petite figure rise out of the saddle, such a small slim shape to be in control of such a huge horse.

But that was Fay. She was in charge – always was. Well, he was the man to tame her, and it would have to be soon. The world was beginning to lose its way. Heaven knew where they would all be this time next year.

He lined up for the fence, knew it was wrong even before they left the ground.

The sky changed places with the earth several times, before he hit the ground flat on his back. The air came out of his mouth and his backside like a tornado. For several seconds nothing happened, he thought he was
paralysed
, couldn’t breathe or move. Then nature took over and his lungs started to work. He rolled over, got to his knees. By the time he staggered to his feet she was only a speck in the distance. The sound of thundering hoofs on the other side of the fence sent him running to get out of the way, whistling for his horse that was grazing in the long grass at the edge of the ditch.

When he’d got the reins, he put his foot in the stirrup, his steed, ears flicking nervously, turned to try and prevent him. Once up he dug his heels in and resumed the hunt.

The tumble had done something. As he watched her riding into the distance around the edge of a wood he realized there was a message there. If he didn’t do it now she’d get away, so he’d propose to her this weekend. Speak to her father first, of course. Time to get the whole thing tidied up. With a flick of the whip and another dig of the heel he urged the horse into a gallop.

Unaware of the resolution being made half a mile or so behind her, Fay, now out in a large field found her thoughts returning to Tom. She looked up at the sky. The solid cover of earlier had given way to broken clouds and heavy showers, one of which was just coming in. She remembered Tom had said that Wednesday was when he sometimes managed a lesson. As the rain lashed down she wondered if he’d get airborne at all – whether he’d found the time or not.

Tom walked out to the Tiger Moth with Trubshaw.

‘Well lad, it’s a bit gusty today. I’d better get her off the ground.’

The take-off was indeed wild. The machine continuing to wobble and lift and drop violently as they climbed away from the grass strip in the gusting wind.

At five thousand feet, Trubshaw’s voice crackled in Tom’s ears as he handed over control.

They went hrough the same series of exercises, turns and rolls, until Trubshaw said enough was enough, and that the weather was getting rougher.

They got safely back down again on terra firma, albeit with a bone jarring thump. Near the hangar a couple of mechanics ran out and held on to the wobbling wings as the gale started to lift them alarmingly.

Back in the office, Trubshaw put their helmets on the table and slumped into his office chair.

‘You were different today and it wasn’t the weather. You seemed to be more aggressive, too rough on the controls.’

‘Oh.’ Tom was dejected, though he had been aware of not managing so well.

Trubshaw continued, ‘You were more relaxed before with a lighter touch on the stick. Now you are starting to grip the joy-stick and jerk it roughly.’

Tom’s glumness was patent, his shoulders slumped. Trubshaw tried to get to the bottom of it.

‘It’s almost as though you are a different man. Tom, are you worried about anything?’

‘No, no, well, not flying.’

Trubshaw nodded. ‘All right, not for me to ask further. My advice is to get whatever it is off your chest. We all have bad days, of course.’

He stood up. ‘See you on Saturday then Tom. Nine o’clock sharp?’

He walked to the window. ‘Forecasters say all this will have blown through by then. We should be able to get a couple of decent hours in at least. By Sunday you will be nearly up to seven hours dual, possibly nine if the weather holds.’

He didn’t go any further – holding back on any mention of a solo for two reasons: the first was that today had been a setback and if he
continued
like that he certainly wouldn’t be ready for another week at least. The second was that whatever it was Tom had on his mind just now, the
situation wouldn’t be improved by the extra pressure of knowing that that milestone was imminent. Ignorance was bliss. Trainee pilots
sometimes
started getting bouts of depression and frustration just before the event if they knew it was near. Better by far to judge the moment, unstrap, get out, and send them off without preamble. Bit of a shock, but the lesser of the two evils.

As Tom cycled home, standing up on the pedals, with the effort required to make progress against the wind, he knew what was at the bottom of today’s woes.

Fay. And what had happened.

All week he’d worried about telling his parents. God love them, they hadn’t two pennies to rub together really and lived with his grandmother in a house that was not owned by her. The whole family relied on his meagre income to provide little extras, more coal than perhaps they would have used to keep warm if he wasn’t there and luxuries like a
wireless
with wet batteries charged up at the shop without thinking twice about it and a ticket to the football for his father on Saturday, or to watch Gloucestershire play cricket at the Cheltenham Festival.

As it was, the money for the flying lessons weighed heavily on his conscience.

His mother met him in the scullery and helped him off with his
waterproof
cape, shaking it out by the door and propping it in a corner.

‘How did it go, son?’

‘Not good today, Mum.’

‘I’m surprised you went up in this weather. I’ve been worrying all day, hoped you’d been cancelled.’

He changed the subject. ‘What’s for dinner tonight, I’m famished.’

‘Your favourite dear, Irish stew with bread and butter pudding to follow.’

He gave her a big noisy kiss on the cheek.

‘Just the job on a day like today and I don’t mean the weather.’

He began to untie his shoes.

His mother looked anxious.

‘Is anything the matter, dear?’

‘No.’ He paused. ‘I’ve got something to tell you and Dad.’

Immediately, he wished he’d waited – the look of anxiety on her face meant that he couldn’t put it off now.

‘What is it dear – are you all right? Have you been to the doctor, is that it?’

‘No, no, Mum, I’m perfectly fit – nothing like that. Nothing for you to worry about at all, really – it’s happy news.’

His mother looked at him oddly, then said, ‘Tom, it’s a girl, isn’t it?’

‘Yes.’

‘We
knew
it.’ She was triumphant.

His father appeared in the doorway, taking the pipe he wasn’t supposed to smoke out of his mouth. ‘She’s pregnant – that it?’

Resignedly, Tom drew in a deep breath. ‘No, Dad, nothing like that, we’re engaged to be married – not straight away of course,’ he added hurriedly, ‘probably in a couple of years’ time.’

His mother wiped her hands on her dutch apron and held up her arms to hug him. ‘Oh, Tom, that’s wonderful.’

They wrapped their arms about each other as his mother seemed to be both crying and laughing at the same time.

When they broke apart it was to find his father looking less than happy. ‘Who is she?’

Tom swallowed. ‘Her name’s Fay – Fay Rossiter and she lives in Cirencester.’

His mother blinked in surprise. ‘Cirencester? How in the world did you meet her?’

He lied. ‘On duty, Mum, just bumped into each other.’

Snorting, his father said, ‘So you were with her in London eh, I hope there was no hanky panky.’

‘
Dad
!’

But he knew he’d gone crimson with the memory of his hand on her …

His mother and father exchanged glances.

His father sniffed. ‘That’s why now, is it? How long have you been keeping quiet about her?’

Again he lied. ‘Oh several weeks. And I’m telling you now because I proposed and was accepted this weekend. It’s taken me a couple of days to pluck up the courage to tell you, because I knew it was going to be an awful shock and I’m so sorry about that …’ his voice tailed off.

It was his mother who broke the silence.

‘Why haven’t you brought her home, Tom, it’s customary and it would have been nice?’

Tom hung his head. ‘I know. I’m sorry, but it all happened so quickly. I didn’t know I was going to propose – it just happened.’

His mother started to smile.

‘When are we going to meet her? Is she nice, luv?’

‘She’s wonderful, Mum; you’ll adore her, I promise.’

His father suppressed a tickle in his throat.

‘Has all this flying nonsense just been a cover? Have you really been meeting her all along?’

‘No, Dad, I love flying. She was the one who introduced me to it.’

With a grunt his father just managed to say sarcastically, ‘You
love
everything all of a sudden,’ then his coughing started. It was a bad one. Anxiously, his mother moved to his side.

‘You all right, Dad?’

The episodes had been getting worse lately.

Nodding between the spasms his father staggered to the wide flat sink, resting with both hands gripping the side as he finally coughed up bloody phlegm and spat it into the white porcelain. He turned on a tap, used his hand to wash it away then took a sip from the column of water. He knew he was dying, just as surely as if it had been a bullet on the Somme. It was only a matter of time, but at least he’d had twenty years, unlike those who had stopped a lump of lead. He turned to face them again, tried a smile of reassurance.

‘Now, where were we? Fay, is it? That’s a nice name. What does she do, Tom?’