Enduring Passions (12 page)

‘She’s a pianist – accompanies singers.’

‘Oh.’ His mother looked bewildered. ‘Is that a proper job?’

‘More to the point,’ added his father. ‘Does it pay well?’

Tom grinned. ‘I believe so.’

‘And her parents. Have you met them, are they nice?’ enquired his mother.

‘No, not yet. Soon.’

His father, feeling conscious of his own unemployed state asked, ‘What’s her father do?’

There was no way Tom could tackle that just now – her father being a junior minister, and a Tory one to boot, let alone being in the Lords.

Even he found it extraordinary, but he was no longer overawed. He just didn’t care anymore. But his parents would be uncomfortable – his father downright unbearable.

‘Oh, quite well-to-do. Something in London.’

Scowling, his father said, ‘Was he in the war?’

‘I believe so; I think he was wounded.’

That seemed to satisfy his old man who turned to his mother and said,
‘What’s for supper?’

But his mother wasn’t listening.

‘This calls for a celebration. There’s that bottle of sweet wine in the cupboard, left over from Christmas, let’s have a toast – to Tom and Fay.’

His father grumbled a bit, he was hungry, but he eventually went and got the bottle, mother providing the tumblers.

As she poured the wine she asked, ‘What are you doing for a ring, Tom?’

He picked up his glass. ‘We’re doing without one for now, Mum. We can’t afford it.’

She winced. ‘Oh, that’s terrible, the poor girl.’

Frowning, Tom said, ‘Oh no, Fay doesn’t mind.’

His mother wasn’t having it. ‘All girls want a ring to show they’re spoken for. She’s just being nice, I like that.’

Her face suddenly lit up. ‘Wait a minute.’

‘What?’

‘Your grandmother has some rings in her jewellery box. Came down the family – one’s her mother’s. When she hears the news she might want to give you a present….’

He shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t dream of it. Anyway, where is Gran?’

‘At a whist drive. No, I’m sure she’ll be offended if you don’t have one. And where else at the moment are you going to get the money? You leave it to me.’

‘Mum – please!’

‘Leave the lad alone.’ His father had already downed his wine in one and was opening a bottle of Watney’s London Pride.

‘Where you going to live, son? This place is not big enough for another married couple, and then there’s nippers to consider.’

Tom hadn’t thought beyond his love and need and fascination with Fay. His father had just uttered things that had not even been on his
horizon
. Momentarily it brought him up with a start.

He shook his head. ‘Dad, that’s years away. We’ll find somewhere.’

His mother held up her glass. ‘Let’s have a toast to you both.’

His father stopped pouring and raised his glass. ‘To our lad, and his wife to be….’ He hesitated, so Tom prompted, ‘Fay.’

‘
Fay
– long life and happiness.’

They clinked their glasses.

It came in the post on Thursday.

There were two envelopes for her. The first was stiffer, with ‘photographs, do not bend’ along the back and front. Fortunately her father had already left for London, so only her mother saw it.

‘What’s that, Fay?’

Her daughter pretended to turn it over and see a trade sign on the back.

‘Oh, it’s returned photographs from
Horse and Rider
. I sent them the ones with me on Jenny; they didn’t use them, said they would be returned under separate cover.’ She pretended to discard it without interest. Fortunately there was the other one with which to distract her mother.

‘Oh, look at this, it’s from the agent to Sir Trevor Keynes.’

She borrowed her mother’s opener, slitting the top of the letter neatly open before pulling out the single sheet of paper, reading it swiftly.

‘Well?’ Her mother was on the edge of her bureau chair.

Fay looked up.

‘Sir Trevor wants me to accompany him for a concert next month, and then for a six month tour of Australia, New Zealand and the Far East.’

‘Oh, Fay, that’s marvellous.’

Her mother got up and came over. They hugged each other, then drew apart, her mother chattering excitedly.

‘You’ll need a whole new wardrobe for the tropics. Isn’t this exciting? We’ll have a whale of a time. Harrods, Harvey Nichols – all the little shops and the Burlington Arcade….’

Her daughter didn’t seem to be reacting as she had expected.

‘Is everything all right, darling? You do want to go, don’t you?’

In truth Fay didn’t. It would mean not seeing Tom for six whole months. As it was her mind and body already ached at a separation of days.

‘I suppose so. It’s just I’ve never been away for so long before.’

Her mother became businesslike.

‘My dear girl, we never had any problem with your boarding at school. And six months – it will fly by. You’ll be home for Christmas.’

Unable to say why she didn’t want to go, Fay just smiled weakly.

‘Yes, Mummy, of course. I suppose it’s the shock. I didn’t think they’d select me, there were so many vying for the job – people who probably need it far more than I.’

‘Don’t be silly, girl. You’re very talented. I’m going to telephone your father’s secretary – he’ll want to know straight away when he gets in to the office.’

As she bustled away, Fay picked up the photograph envelope. In her bedroom she used one side of her sewing scissors to open the letter. Excitedly she got out the prints.

The very first one she looked at became her favourite. There in black and white, frozen for ever, they stood, hand in hand. Eventually she touched her lips to him and placed it between the leaves of her Bible.

When he finally got his rota, Tom found he had got the Monday he had requested.

That cheered him up no end. Tomorrow he would get some flying in before the dance commitment in the evening. Now, it was nearly time to ring her. He was in a telephone box situated at the approach to Leckhampton Station.

He felt in his jacket pocket at the little box snuggled there. His mother had been right, Grannie had been over the moon with his news and had immediately gone to her room. They’d heard the tin trunk under her bed being pulled over the linoleum. When she came down the stairs it was with the little box, and inside the ring with its single stone diamond. It wasn’t big but, to his unpractised eye, it was just beautiful. He hadn’t known how to thank her. She had tears in her eyes, as she sighed, ‘It was my mother’s. I’ve kept it since she died. She would have been delighted for you to have it – keeping it in the family. Your girl, is she beautiful?’

‘Yes Gran, very.’

She had patted his hand. ‘Then that’s settled, dear. I hope she likes it.’

Now he looked again at it, sparkling up at him from its black velvet bed. He knew that Fay would be used to bigger things, but it really was delicate Victorian workmanship, even if the diamond was small.

And he knew Fay would treasure it, whatever its size.

He snapped the lid shut and put it back in his pocket. The hands of his watch neared the appointed time. With his money ready he dialled the operator. When she told him the amount he shelled it into the slot and stood waiting with his finger on button ‘A’.

‘Trying to connect you.’

At Codrington Hall the telephone in the stone-flagged entrance lobby gave out its loud double ring. The butler, in a white jacket over his pinstripe trousers was overseeing the laying of the dinner table when he heard the telephone. He started for the hall, but Fay called out, ‘It’s all right, I’ll take it.’

She picked up the receiver. ‘Codrington Hall.’

Tom pushed the button. There was a crash as the coins fell into the metal box and a second of infuriating silence, as he said, ‘Hello – hello’ and then suddenly Fay’s voice was saying, ‘Codrington Hall – is that you, Tom?’

‘Fay, darling, yes, it’s me.’

Her voice came warmly down the line. ‘Tom, I really miss you.’

‘And I’ve missed you too.’

‘You still love me then?’

Unseen Tom pushed his trilby back off his forehead and did a parody of an American voice from the films. ‘You bet, baby.’

She chuckled. ‘You fool. So, when can we meet?’

‘Monday – I’m free all day.’

She had to restrain herself from shouting out with glee.

‘Oh darling, I’m so pleased. Where – what time?’

His voice came down the line. ‘I’ll come to Cirencester if it’s easier – and Fay, I’ve got something for you.’

Fay leant away, trying to see whether her mother had moved from her position in the drawing-room.

‘What is it?’

‘No, I won’t tell you, it’s a surprise.’

Intrigued she teased. ‘Are you sure I am going to like it?’

‘I hope so.’

She remembered the photographs. ‘Oh, and I’ve got something for you.’

It was his turn to be both puzzled and tease. ‘And am I going to like it?’

‘Oh, I think so.’

They chatted for a minute, she asking him whether he had flown that week? He told her about his poor showing when, all of a sudden, the pips started going.

‘Hang on,’ he shouted, struggling to get more coins in the slot. The infuriating moment of no communication happened again before he heard her saying, ‘Tom, are you there?’

‘Yes, look, where and at what time on Monday?’

She turned, checking again that her Mother wasn’t in earshot.

‘I’ll come to Cheltenham – it’s easier. That all right for you?’

‘Of course. You’ll be on the early train?’

‘Yes and I’m sorry about not being free on Sunday.’

Fay glanced around nervously again to check she couldn’t be
overheard
.

‘Darling, I love you. I’m so miserable without you.’

‘Me, too. You’re in my mind all the time.’

The pips went again. Over them he hurriedly called out ‘I love you’, to which she replied, ‘And I adore you.’

They kept repeating ‘Love you – love you’ until the pips stopped. At the last moment, he managed one final ‘I love you Fay,’ then the line went dead.

He replaced the handset, pressed button ‘B’ in case there was any change from somebody else and then pushed open the heavy door. He stopped, felt in his trouser pocket, though he knew there were no more coins. Down the road was a little corner shop called Lords. He’d buy something and with the change ring Mr Trubshaw to make sure he could maximize his flying time over the weekend.

Fay, left with a dead line, still held the receiver to her ear, saying in a much louder voice – ‘All right, Jennifer, I’ll see you on Monday.’

She paused, pretended to be listening, then said, still loudly, ‘Cavendish House will be fine, till then, bye.’

She put the phone down, went back into the room. Her mother was sitting there reading a
Woman’s Own
, and looked up.

‘Who was that, dear?’

‘Jennifer, I’m meeting her at Cavendish House on Monday.’

‘Oh, you could do some shopping for your trip. Shall I come as well, darling?’

Even though she felt a surge of panic she managed to stop herself
overreacting
.

She screwed her face up. ‘We won’t have time for that sort of thing. She’s wants me to meet her for coffee, and then go and see some New Zealand friends who have come back with her.’

‘I see.’

Her mother turned a page. ‘Extraordinary.’

‘Pardon?’

‘I met her mother at the Pearsons the other evening. She never said anything about Jennifer being back, let alone house guests.’

Fay suddenly found it difficult to breathe and managed only a weak, ‘Really. Must have slipped her mind.’ With that she made for the door. ‘Just going down to the stable, I need to check on Jenny. Had a feeling
she might have been going lame on the walk home on Wednesday.’

When she’d gone, her mother lowered her magazine, frowning. Fay was behaving rather oddly these days, and now, with the offer of a
professional
position and exciting travel prospects, she seemed less than
enthusiastic
.

It could only mean that the boy she had met at the party was more serious than they had thought.

When Mr Trubshaw lowered the receiver, he wondered how the heck he was going to square it up with the wife. He’d just agreed to give Tom Roxham a whole morning and an hour in the afternoon on Saturday as well. He must be crazy. But he knew why really. He picked up the Air Ministry Directive that had landed on his desk that morning. It was stamped
urgent
. They wanted all flying schools to double their efforts to qualify as many pilots in the basics by midsummer. Tossing the letter down, he leant back in his chair and closed his eyes. Nearly every month now they were putting the pressure on them all. His friend over at Worcester had reported a visit by two air-force types who had given him a pep talk on the necessity for advertising the scheme and checking on his aircraft. They’d even gone as far as to say that they might have funds that could be used to help with equipment.

No government agency did that unless there was a very good reason. Now the morality of it all sometimes got to him. Tim Mayhew was right. Young lads, like Tom Roxham – did they really know what they were being trained for?

And he was helping them.

It made him increasingly uneasy.

Fay’s father strode into the hall, giving his hat, cane and brief-case to one of the maids, allowing the butler, Wilson, to help him off with his coat.

‘A good day, sir?’

‘Very good, thank you. Where are Lady Rossiter and Miss Fay?’

‘In the drawing-room sir, I took the liberty of pouring you your usual sherry.’

Fay’s father shook his head. ‘Not tonight Wilson, a bottle of the Pol if you please, we have a celebration.’

‘Indeed, sir?’

‘Yes. Miss Fay is going to accompany Sir Trevor Keynes on a tour of
Australia, New Zealand, Singapore.’

‘That’s excellent news sir, and a very proud moment for the family.’

It was genuinely meant.