He came over and gave her a kiss on her forehead and went out. Their marriage had taken a turn for the better altogether lately; well, that was worth a great deal, she thought. Please please, dear God, I know I don’t deserve it, but let this baby have dark hair, eyes immaterial. I can handle that. She knew He must be extremely busy, but she felt sure God would give her wishes in the matter prime consideration. She touched every piece of wood within reach in case He didn’t, and then chided herself for being ridiculous.
‘Tom? Donald Herbert. Look, I want to talk through a few things with you. I might even have some news. You free this evening?’
‘I could be.’
‘Right. Savoy at six OK with you?’
‘Well, if it’s all right with Robert, my leaving the office early yet again?’
‘Don’t you worry about Robert. The American Bar.’
Tom put the phone down, feeling discomfited. He never failed to be shocked by Herbert’s choice of dining and watering holes. Still, it would be interesting to watch capitalism at its most bloated. He wondered idly if he was dressed smartly enough for the Savoy and then thought if they turned him away it would be a strong message that he had been invited to the wrong place.
They didn’t turn him away and Donald, wearing a dinner jacket, was seated at a small round table, being hovered over by a waiter. He waved at Tom as he came down the steps into the bar.
‘Hello. I was just debating getting a bottle of bubbly, but we’ll never get through it in time. I’m taking Christine to the theatre. That being so, what’s your poison?’
Tom was deeply tempted, but didn’t quite dare, to say a pint of bitter. ‘Gin and tonic, please.’
‘Good man. Make that two,’ Donald said to the waiter. ‘Doubles. And some of your excellent brazils and those salted almonds, if you’d be so kind.’
The waiter half bowed – God, this was disgusting, Tom thought – and backed away from them. Tom studied the clientele: men in dark suits, some in dinner jackets like Herbert, the women in full-skirted dresses, a couple of them in what were very much evening coats, again mostly made of taffeta with large collars that were almost an extension of the elaborate necklaces they wore.
‘I do like women in cocktail dresses,’ said Herbert, looking at a blonde dressed in black, with a very low neckline and modestly tight three-quarter sleeves. ‘I always think they show them at their best. Still get the legs to look at, and the tits as well.’
The blonde recognised his admiration from across the room and acknowledged it with a slightly cool half smile; she had the most lovely mouth, Tom thought, full and curvy, enhanced with some brilliant red lipstick. While he was looking at her, the drinks arrived, small bottles of tonic water to add to what looked to him like half tumblers of gin, and he took one sip of his and suddenly it happened: the feeling which he was beginning to recognise, an easing into it all and that he did, after all, like being here; it felt comfortable, it suited some small, greedy part of him. He took one of the almonds, savouring its sweet saltiness against the richness of the gin and tonic, and relaxed and said to Herbert, as if it were an idle question, the answer to which he might act upon and go himself, ‘So what are you going to see?’
‘The King and I, musical, at Drury Lane. I’m not mad about the things myself, but Christine loves them – have to keep her sweet somehow, she doesn’t have a lot of fun, poor woman. Now look, I want you to think about standing for some hopelessly Tory seat –’
‘What would be the point of that?’ said Tom, almost alarmed.
‘Practice, dear boy, practice.’
And then, as he listened, tried to see the sense in what sounded like a most fruitless enterprise, Tom looked up and saw Diana Southcott (as he would always think of her) coming down the steps into the bar. She was wearing a cocktail dress in dark green taffeta, her dark hair swept up, her long legs flattered by some very dark stockings and extremely high heels, and she looked so lovely that Tom felt a lurch somewhere he supposed to be his heart. Which was nowhere near his actual heart, he thought. Slightly lower, somewhere more carnal, more invasive: and he called out to her, as she had to him at the Pleasure Gardens, called out her name, and with no idea of her married surname, simply ‘Diana’ had to suffice. He hoped she wouldn’t mind.
She clearly did not; she walked towards them smiling, apparently delighted. Tom stood up to greet her, holding out his hand, but she ignored it, offered her cheek to kiss, and as he complied he felt the warmth of her, smelt her perfume, rich and musky.
‘Well, hello,’ said Donald, the emphasis on the second syllable, standing up and holding out his hand. ‘It’s the lady of the roundabouts. Donald Herbert, sure you won’t remember me.’
She shook his hand and said, ‘Of course I do.’
‘Join us for a drink, won’t you? Or is some lucky fellow already here waiting for you?’
‘Not a fellow, a girl,’ Diana said. ‘In any case, I’m early. So yes, thank you, that would be delightful. A dry sherry, please.’ Much summoning of the waiter ensued, and further bowing and grovelling; she sat down on the chair opposite Tom, and picked an almond out of the dish.
‘My favourite,’ she said. ‘How clever of you to know,’ and she smiled at Donald, before biting on it and closing her eyes in mock rapture.
‘Oh, I have many powers,’ said Herbert, picking up on her mood. ‘An ability to prophesy being only one of them.’
‘Well, that must be very useful in your profession,’ said Diana. ‘So, tell me, were you dreadfully disappointed about the election?’
‘Oh, not for an instant. Churchill was on the warpath. But we put up a pretty good fight.’
‘And did Tom help you?’
‘Immeasurably,’ said Herbert. ‘I had hoped his hour might have come.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘Well, that he would have had much more chance of making his way in politics. In fact, even as things are, I’m looking for likely by-elections. So he can stand as an opposition candidate.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Diana. ‘I thought you’d lost the election.’
‘We have. But whatever party’s in, there has to be an opposition. With representatives for every seat.’
‘Tom!’ said Diana. ‘You’re going to be an MP! How terribly exciting.’
‘I’m afraid that’s extremely unlikely for many years. But if it happened, yes, it would be exciting,’ Tom said.
‘Don’t talk yourself down,’ said Diana. ‘I’ll vote for you.’
‘Well, that’s very kind, but I’m afraid it doesn’t work quite like that.’
‘Look,’ said Donald Herbert. ‘I’m afraid I shall have to go. I’m taking my wife for supper before we see The King and I this evening –’
‘Oh, how terribly clever of you to get tickets,’ said Diana, as if he had managed to unlock the Enigma code. ‘I hear it’s booked solid months ahead.’
‘Oh, we have ways.’
‘And is that part of the English political system?’
‘You could say that. Anyway, Tom, do you want another of those before I settle up?’
‘No, thank you,’ said Tom, realising he was feeling distinctly light headed. ‘No, that was very good, Donald. Thank you.’
‘My pleasure. As has been meeting you again,’ he said to Diana, raising her hand to his lips and kissing it.
Old bugger’s flirting with her, thought Tom, not sure whether to be amused or annoyed and wondering if he would ever be able to behave the same way. Women seemed to like it. And what are you doing, thinking about what women like, Tom Knelston? You, with a pregnant wife at home, a pregnant wife that you love very much.
And then … rather to his shame, he did nothing to hurry his departure.
‘So Tom, what are you doing here, in this bastion of privilege?’ Diana’s dark eyes looked at him in a kind of challenge.
‘Not my idea,’ said Tom. ‘Donald summoned me. He’s in charge of my rather futile attempt to become a
n MP. So I have to dance to his tune.’
‘Well, it seems like a pretty nice tune to me,’ said Diana. ‘Seriously, Tom, whatever you’re trying to do, I wish you the very best of luck with it. Tell me about you? I know you’re married, I read it in the Daily News.’
‘What on earth are you doing reading the Daily News?’ said Tom, genuinely surprised.
‘I try to read all the papers. It’s such a good way of really keeping in touch with everybody and everything. Especially up there, where people are so narrow-minded. I love the Daily Mirror. The way it doesn’t give two hoots about what important people think, and its campaigns. You know, getting a better deal for old people. Anyway, you’re married – very pretty, your wife, I thought. Lovely wedding dress. Now – here’s to you. Good luck.’
‘Thank you,’ said Tom. ‘I’m going to need it.’
‘We all need luck,’ said Diana soberly.
She had pulled a small, enamelled cigarette case out of her bag, and a tortoiseshell lighter. Her hands, as she lit her cigarette, were shaking slightly.
Tom wondered if he should ask her what she meant, and decided it wouldn’t be wise. Instead he said, ‘Are you down in London to do some modelling?’
‘No,’ she said briefly, and looking at Tom in silence for a moment as if making some kind of decision. Then she said, ‘No, I’m not modelling at the moment. I was seeing my gynaecologist.’
Tom felt nonplussed. Clearly no gentleman could possibly ask a lady why she was seeing her gynaecologist; but then why tell him at all, if she didn’t want the conversation to halt altogether?
‘The thing is,’ she said, solving his dilemma, ‘I think it’s time I had another baby. For Jamie, as much as anyone.’
This was safer. ‘How is Jamie?’ he said.
‘He’s very well, growing up too fast. He’ll be away at school before I know it and I shall miss him terribly. He’s my best friend up there, you could say.’
Tom knew better than to suggest that Jamie need not go away to school, and therefore not be terribly missed. Boarding school was one of this strange tribe’s rituals, to be followed at all costs.
‘So, do you like it any better up there now?’ he asked, this being the nearest he could get to the matter.
Diana looked at him and smiled. ‘You’re so sweet, Tom. Remembering all my moaning. No, I suppose you could say I’ve got used to it. Where do you live?’
‘In Acton,’ said Tom. ‘And Alice – my wife – is pregnant.’
‘Really? How lovely.’
‘I don’t think she thinks so. She feels dreadful.’
‘Poor her,’ said Diana. ‘Do you feel dreadfully worried all the time?’
‘Not dreadfully,’ said Tom. ‘But worried, yes.’
‘Because of what happened to Laura?’
‘Yes.’
He sat, looking at her, and thinking one of the main reasons he liked her was that she met things head on. And after a moment fuelled by the gin, he said so. ‘Most people dance round the subject of Laura’s pregnancy. Thank you for mentioning it. It’s like the way you came to find me at her grave that day. I’ve never forgotten that, how you just said what you felt. It was, well, it was so welcome. And surprising.’
‘Why? Oh, because you think I’m a toffee-nosed brat without any proper feelings. I hope your view is changing a bit now. I like to think of you as a friend, I must say. Tom, will you be my friend?’
‘I would love to be, Diana,’ he said, rushing, half knowingly, headlong into danger.
‘Well, that’s just so nice,’ she said and leaned forward again to kiss his cheek. I—’ and then she stopped suddenly and pulled back, an expression of intense pain on her face. Then it cleared.
‘Oh,’ she said, relaxing, ‘that hurt.’
‘What was it?’ he said anxiously.
‘Bit of indigestion. I get it a lot. Look, there’s Wendelien. I’ll introduce you. You won’t like her.’
‘Then maybe I should just go.’
‘No, no. But don’t stay. Anyway, you must get back to your lovely Alice.’
‘Yes, I must,’ he said, thinking he actually didn’t want to get back to the weary, sickly Alice he hardly recognised as much as he should.
‘Here we are, Wendelien,’ Diana called to her. She jumped up and embraced her, then said, ‘Wendelien Bellinger, Tom Knelston.’
Wendelien, also extremely pretty he thought, held out her hand.
‘He’s not staying,’ said Diana firmly. ‘He’s been keeping me company while we waited for you. Tom, darling, thank you for your company.’
She kissed him yet again; he knew he should be wincing at the ‘darling’ but in fact he loved it. It was a moment to savour, all part of this spellbound forbidden territory.
‘My pleasure,’ he said. ‘It really was. Goodbye. And goodbye, Mrs Bellinger.’
And with great reluctance he moved away from them and the temple of grovel and privilege that he liked so much, and knew he shouldn’t, and walked back to the foyer of the Savoy, and out into the cool evening where he tried to return to normal while he waited in a very unprivileged bus queue.
‘Wow, he’s a looker,’ said Wendelien. ‘Seemed rather sweet too. Diana, you’re not –?’
‘Of course I’m not,’ said Diana irritably. ‘He’s just a – ow. God –’
‘Darling, whatever is it?’
‘Awful twinge. Had another one just now. That’s better. Indigestion, I’m sure.
I – oh, dear. I must just pop to the ladies. Order yourself a drink and I’ll have another sherry, please. Dry. See you in a tick.’
‘Diana, you look awful. Shall I come with you?’
‘Darling, don’t fuss. I’m fine. Honestly. Just get me a drink, and some salted almonds. Too delicious.’
‘It was a girl.’ Her voice was thick with tears. ‘A girl. Why did it have to happen, why couldn’t they have stopped it? Useless, useless doctors. I can’t bear it, I absolutely can’t bear it. It’s so, so unfair.’ And she started crying in earnest.
Chapter 29
1952
Alice was now six months pregnant, no longer sick, but far from blooming. She was extremely tired, and the initial kicking of the baby, so exciting the first few times, became an exhausting and near-painful event that continued throughout every night, and kept her awake.
‘This has to be a boy,’ she said to Tom. ‘A star footballer. He’ll be playing for England.’
Tom, while pleased to hear of his son’s putative future on the football pitches of England, was more excited on his own account. He had been summoned by the national agent to Transport House and was told he was being put forward for the shortlist of Labour candidates for Middleston, a leafy suburb on the outskirts of Birmingham. Although the Tories would hold on to the seat, having increased their majority in the election, the agent had told Tom he had a good chance of being selected as candidate.
‘They want someone young and your profile is much higher than it was with the party; the other two are no more likely than you to be adopted, in fact, rather less. One unmarried – as for the other, I’ve unearthed that he was once a Young Tory and we can spread the dirt quite nicely. It’ll be bloody hard work if you get selected, lot of pavement pounding and speeches to half-empty halls, but the campaign manager is a bloody good bloke and he thinks you’ve as good a chance as any. So – what do you say? It’ll mean being away from home a lot, and a lot of flag raising by your wife of course, but …’
Tom didn’t hesitate. ‘She’ll be game, and of course I’ll give it a go. When can I go up there, get started?’
‘The minute poor old Barton announces he’s standing down.’ Tom was worried that Robert Herbert would resent his absences, but he seemed rather impressed.
‘So is that a yes?’
Excited and disproportionately hopeful, he went home to tell Alice.
It had never occurred to him for a moment that he might ask her how she felt. Alice found it necessary to point
this out, whereupon he reminded her of her promise at their wedding to put his ambitions in the Labour Party before anything, and she fled to their bedroom in tears.
‘Oh, for Christ’s sake,’ said Tom, following her in, looking down at her with something close to dislike as she lay on the bed. ‘Don’t you realise this is a real chance of my actually achieving what I’ve dreamed of for the whole of my life?’
‘And if you get adopted,’ she said. ‘Will we have to move up there? Leave this lovely house? Will I have to have the baby in a strange hospital, with no friends around me? Which of course I will, but don’t you think you should have at least asked me how I felt about it?’
‘Curiously, I assumed you’d feel about it the way I do,’ said Tom. ‘As my wife, sharing my ambitions, my feelings, everything I want for both of us, all of us, as a family. Clearly I was wrong. Love – and marriage, indeed – don’t seem to mean the same things to you as they do to me. I think I’ll go out for a while. I’m not enjoying your company very much at the moment.’
‘Tom – Tom, I didn’ t – I mean I do, Tom, please don’t go, please.’
‘I don’t see any reason to stay, quite frankly,’ and he was gone, the door slammed behind him.
Alice stopped crying at once, stunned at what she had done. Failing him totally, breaking her promises, whingeing and whining like the pathetic women she so despised. When – no, don’t think about Laura, don’t, Alice, it won’t help: but of course she did, imagining Laura’s great eyes shining, voice tremulous with excitement, asking what she could do, now, at once, saying how wonderful it was.
Tom came in after a couple of hours, clearly drunk, and looked at her with something close to dislike.
‘I’m sorry, Tom,’ Alice said immediately. ‘So very sorry. Of course I’ll do everything I can. It was just a bit of a shock.’
‘Clearly,’ he said. ‘I’m rather sad it should have come as a shock; it seems I should be more careful in future. I certainly don’t want to force you to do anything against your will.’
‘It’s not against my will, it really isn’t. I want to help you, I want you to succeed. I do, Tom, I do. You’ve got to believe me. Please, Tom, please.’
A Question of Trust Page 29