Enduring Passions (16 page)

Simpson jumped behind the wheel and started the engine. They lowered the windows and blew kisses, as he eased in the clutch and they moved slowly away.

All three were still standing at the gate waving when they turned the corner.

As they drove away in the back of the Lagonda, Tom said, ‘You were wonderful, Fay.’

She lolled against him, looking at her ring. ‘I think your parents are lovely, especially your Mum. And your father was growing on me – he’s an interesting man – been through a lot.’

Her face clouded at the memory of the coughing fit as they were
leaving
. ‘His chest is pretty bad, isn’t it?’

Gloomily he nodded. ‘Getting worse over the last few months.’

They sat, shoulders touching but not talking, conscious of Simpson’s presence, but after five minutes she drew in her breath and said, ‘Now we’ve got to face my people. Look, Tom, it may be hard to believe when you meet them today because they’ve had a hell of a shock, but they’re good people really.’

‘Of course they are – you’re their daughter.’

She smiled her thanks, but then looked serious again. ‘Daddy’s very worried about you – thinks you’re after my money.’

When he made to protest she stopped him. ‘I know – but they don’t know you, don’t forget. I’ve had a wonderful childhood, I love them dearly. Be patient – please.’

Tom took her hand, gave it a squeeze. ‘Don’t worry, I’m sure it will turn out all right.’

Fay smiled weakly – then suddenly her face lit up. ‘Oh – you said you wanted to tell me something?’

He hadn’t forgotten – how could he? – he’d just been waiting for the right moment.

They were going up Leckhampton Hill. He glanced at Simpson in the mirror. ‘Can you stop by the view point over there?’

Simpson looked at Fay for her approval. She nodded.

The Lagonda drew into the edge of the road at a wide spot. He pulled her towards his door, helped her get to her feet, to stand on the grassy bank. The view was of the Severn Valley, with Cheltenham to the right and Gloucester to the left with the little hill of Churchdown straight ahead. Puzzled, she looked at the view.

‘What is it?’

He stood beside her, smelling the freshness of her hair, arm around her shoulder as he pointed with the other.

‘See that bit of green there, to the right, with the hangars?’

She was ahead of him. ‘It’s Staverton aerodrome – oh …’ She turned around, eyes alight with excitement. ‘What’s happened?’

He couldn’t contain it any longer. ‘I’ve soloed.’

Fay’s mouth flew open, her arms went around his neck as she screamed, ‘Tom, that’s brilliant.’ He clasped her waist and lifted her off the ground as she continued to squeal with pleasure. Simpson coughed and discreetly looked away as she reached up and pulled his face down
to hers and gave him a big kiss.

‘You must be good, Tom.’

As he started to protest she butted in. ‘Tell me about it.’

He did his best. In the end she sighed. ‘Oh God, I do envy you so.’

He felt for her, held her tightly as they continued to look at the view, Tom’s attention caught by the far-away white plume of steam and smoke from an express heading south.

Reluctantly she released him and gave him a tap on the shoulder. ‘Come on, we’d better go.’

They got back into the car, sitting in the corners, a space between them.

Fay opened her handbag for the photos. ‘And I’ve got something for you.’

Tom looked down at the glossy black and white prints of them both, standing side by side, caught forever at the very beginning of their life together.

‘Oh, Fay. Can I keep one?’

She nodded. Seeing them had brought a lump to his throat. He leant over and gave her a kiss on the cheek, unconcerned whether Simpson saw him or not. He took out his wallet and put the photo in and put it back into the jacket pocket over his heart, tapping it with his hand as she watched.

The car cleared the Cotswold escarpment and neared Cirencester. When they finally passed through the village of Bagendon she reached for his hand and squeezed it.

‘Here we go.’

They swept through the gates and up the drive, Fay watching him closely as the house came into view in all its glory.

Their eyes met. Tom grinned. ‘Nice little place.’

There was nobody in the doorway, not even Wilson. It seemed ominous.

Fay jumped out and met Tom as he came around the back of the car.

‘Now remember, I love you, so whatever my parents do or say, keep that fixed firmly in your head.’

He smiled. ‘I will.’

He looked up at the façade of the house and felt very daunted.

They entered the stone-floored hall, Fay leading the way. There was nobody around. Frowning, she made for the drawing-room doors which were closed. She opened the left-hand one and walked in. Her parents
were standing close together by the fireplace, looking very serious. The atmosphere was decidedly chilly.

‘Daddy, Mummy, this is Tom.’

He had followed her in. For a second or two they faced each other in silence before Tom took a step further forward and held out his hand.

‘Sir.’

Lord Rossiter paused for a second that frightened Fay to death, before he grudgingly took the hand and shook it – just the once, letting go quickly.

Her mother held back, didn’t offer her hand as her husband said rather sarcastically, ‘So –
you
are Tom Roxham.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And where did you meet my daughter?’

Tom shuffled his feet. ‘Well,
the
very first time we saw each other was at a dance in Cheltenham.’

Her mother spoke for the first time. ‘You were in the orchestra, I believe?’ She managed to make it sound as if he had been cleaning the drains.

‘Yes.’

Fay stepped forward and said proudly, ‘Look, Mummy.’

She held out her hand with the ring.

Lady Rossiter gave it a cursory glance. ‘Very nice.’

The way she said it was dismissive, making Fay burn with anger – and embarrassment for Tom.

Her father only looked at it passingly, and grunted, ‘What exactly did Fay say you did for a living?’

She noticed that he hadn’t yet called Tom by his Christian name and was irritated by the fact. ‘I’m a Police Constable with the Great Western Railway, sir – acting as a detective.’

‘Hmmm.’

There was no disguising the disapproval in his voice. ‘Can you honestly expect to keep my daughter in the manner to which she is
accustomed
on your salary?’

‘Daddy.’ She could stand it no longer. ‘What is this, an interrogation?’

Her mother joined in. ‘Fay, we have been so worried.’ She turned to Tom, saying, ‘Can you understand that?’

‘Yes – Mrs – sorry – Lady Rossiter. I am well aware that I’m not from the same background, but all I can do is reassure you that my love for Fay is genuine.’

‘And mine for you,’ butted in Fay.

‘That’s all very well.’ Her father struggled with himself visibly for a second before saying, ‘
Tom
, but the cold reality is that Fay is used to all sorts of things – a decent home, horses, the best hotels. Can you give her that sort of life?’

‘Oh really, this is too much.’ Fay was getting angry. ‘We’ve hardly been in the house a minute.’

Seeing her anger her mother placed a restraining hand on her husband’s arm. ‘Would you like a drink before lunch?’ she asked Tom.

He looked at Fay, who said quickly, ‘A sherry would be nice, wouldn’t it?’

He turned back to her mother. ‘Yes, that’s very kind – thank you.’

Wilson had appeared from nowhere and now proceeded to pour three glasses which he served to them on a silver tray.

‘Sir?’

Her father shook his head, held up a tumbler of whisky. ‘I’ve already started.’

Awkwardly, Tom took his glass and waited until Lady Rossiter sipped hers before he did the same.

A sort of uneasy truce descended.

‘Shall I serve luncheon soon, madam?’

Lady Rossiter nodded. ‘Ten minutes.’ She looked at them all. ‘I think we’re nearly ready.’

While they drank the sherry he was conscious of them watching his every move as they made small talk.

Fay put her arm through his at one point, emphasizing that they were together.

When they sat down, it was in the dining-room to her surprise – one of the most formal rooms. Her father sat at the head of the table, her mother at the other end and Fay and Tom opposite one another in the middle. They were unable to see each other easily because of a very large and elaborate silver candelabra. Fay fumed. They often ate quite
informally
in the Orangery at lunchtimes. This had all been set up to
intimidate
Tom.

Wilson held the serving dish whilst her mother and then Fay helped themselves to slices of cold beef, potatoes and beetroot. When it was Tom’s turn he did the same – unfortunately dropping one of the slices half off the plate. He quickly put it in place using his fingers. Fay noticed the looks exchanged between her parents.

But any hopes that they may have had about his misuse of the knife and fork, especially how to hold it were quickly dispelled. His gran had been in service and had supervised young Tom’s table manners from a very early age. So he wasn’t phased by the use of his table napkin, or which items of cutlery to use for what.

Red wine was poured into his glass. After his ‘tasting’ fiasco on their first date, Fay had told him more about wine so when Lord Rossiter said ‘I hope you like the Bordeaux,’ he swirled it in his glass, took a sniff and a sip and said, ‘Yes, very good, sir.’

By the end of the meal, Fay was bursting with pride – and relief.

Wilson presented the humidor, which Tom declined. Lord Rossiter selected one, rolling it between finger and thumb, then cut the end.

Lady Rossiter pushed back her chair as Wilson hurried to help and threw her napkin on to the table.

‘Come along, Fay, let’s leave them to talk.’

Fay put her napkin on the table and stood up. She knew what her parents were doing – separating them deliberately. She shot her father a hard look. ‘Don’t be long, will you?’

When they’d gone, clouds of blue smoke rose around Lord Rossiter as he sucked the cigar into a glowing, fiery end before waving the match in the air until the flame extinguished.

‘Shall we take a stroll on the terrace – need a bit of fresh air?’

Obediently, Tom followed him through a french window held open by Wilson. Outside Lord Rossiter took a few steps to the stone balustrade and looked out over the parkland, taking in exaggerated lungfuls of air before sticking the cigar back into his mouth.

‘Ah, that’s better.’

‘Beautiful house and grounds you have, sir.’

Lord Rossiter nodded slowly in agreement. ‘And you, Tom – tell me about where you live and your parents.’

He did, making no fabrications to improve his standing.

‘I live in a terraced house rented to my grandmother, with my parents. Father is unemployed – gassed in the war at Passchendaele.’

Just for once Fay’s father betrayed a trace of softness. He shook his head. ‘Thank God I missed anything like that. Bad enough getting blown up, but
that
.’ He shook his head again.

‘Give my best wishes to your father. What unit was he with?’

Tom told him. ‘The County Regiment, sir.’

‘Well now, they were close to my sector of the front – but I dare say I
had my Blighty one before him.’

They walked in silence for a moment or two until Lord Rossiter stopped and faced him. ‘You are a very agreeable young man. It’s
nothing
personal. Nonetheless you must know we are bitterly opposed to this marriage, Tom – it’s not going to take place.’

This time there was no coldness in the way he said ‘Tom’.

The latter’s heart fell to his boots.

This conversational friendly manner seemed so frighteningly absolute – more of a done fact than an expression of their feelings.

Bleakly he dug his heels in.

‘Yes, it is.’

Lord Rossiter twitched his lower jaw. ‘You hardly know each other.’

That was something Tom was prepared for. It was true but….

‘I know and Fay knows it, sir, but the fact is we are meant for each other, something happened to us both when we first met.’

‘Stop talking like a character in one of those American films – life is far harsher than fiction. Look, Tom, now I’ve met you I can see you’re a decent enough type, but you should know that Fay is a very strong-willed girl and the more she thinks she wants to marry you, the more she will convince herself – whether it’s true or not.’

Tom persisted. ‘But it is true, sir. We love each other.’

Lord Rossiter didn’t reply immediately, resuming his stroll. After a while he said, ‘You do know, I presume, that she has just had a
marvellous
offer to pursue a musical career?’

‘Yes, of course.’

Her father paused. ‘It involves an overseas tour of six months.’

‘So I gather.’

‘We do hope that she intends going through with it. You haven’t tried to talk her out of it I hope? Her mother and I would be most upset after all the years of hard work?’

‘No, of course not. To be honest it hasn’t been on our minds at all.’

Lord Rossiter took a pull on his cigar, then said challengingly, ‘The two of you are not entertaining the thought of any hasty action, I hope?’

‘Hasty?’ Tom wasn’t sure what he was getting at.

‘Yes – like eloping?’

His mouth dropped open. ‘Good Lord, no.’

A faint smile flittered briefly across Lord Rossiter’s face. ‘That is a relief. I did not confide my fears to Fay’s mother, she is under enough strain as it is.’

Tom shook his head. ‘We’re engaged, sir. That’s all. There are no plans for the wedding – we haven’t even talked about it.’

Her father walked on. ‘Good, I applaud your correctness, Tom.’

To the latter, it seemed to be going quite well again, then like a dagger thrust from behind a cloak, Lord Rossiter said, ‘Of course, we shall now automatically exclude Fay from our wills – you will get not a penny from any union with this family.’