A Question of Trust

by Penny Vincenzi

  ‘Well, I’ll do my best,’ he said. ‘And in answer to your rather self-absorbed questions, we wouldn’t have to move to Middleston. If I was actually elected, I would be working at the House. We’d merely have to go there at weekends, if that was acceptable to you.’

  ‘Tom –’

  ‘But since that is highly unlikely, there would be no question of it. So you wouldn’t have to have your baby away from everyone you know, as you put it.’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind, Tom. It would be worth it, of course it would. How can I make you believe me?’

  ‘Well, there is one thing,’ he said, ‘since you ask – you can have the baby at Acton Hospital. Forget all that nonsense about having it at St Thomas’. It’s not our local hospital, and you having it there reeks of privilege. You know how unhappy I am about it.’

  ‘Of course I will. I’m sorry,’ said Alice, bidding a silent and sad farewell to being somewhere she knew every inch of and where she had delivered babies herself and would have been under the aegis of Jillie’s uncle. ‘I didn’t know you felt so unhappy about it.’

  ‘I think you did,’ he said, ‘but we will leave it at that. Now, I have some reading to do. You look tired. Why don’t you go to bed, have an early night?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I will. Good idea,’ said Alice.

  But she was still awake when he came to bed, hours later. She pretended to be asleep. Some part of her, along with the shame at her behaviour, was in shock. It was the first time she had ever seen Tom’s ruthless side, and indeed, his potential for cruelty. She found it disturbing, and worse, rather frightening.

  In the event, Tom didn’t even get selected; he sat through an interview by the committee during which they treated him so derisively he almost walked out. The national agent broke the news, followed by a call from Donald Herbert shortly afterwards.

  ‘Just put it down to experience, which is crucial in this game. You didn’t do too badly in your interview.’

  ‘Really? It felt as though they couldn’t wait to get me out of the room.’

  ‘No place for paranoia in this game,’ said Donald. ‘Anyway, I thought I’d take you and Alice out to dinner, by way of consolation.’

  Tom often doubted if Donald had a heart. He felt slightly ashamed and rang Alice to tell her.

  ‘I didn’t get selected. But we’re going out to dinner. Donald’s taking us, consolation prize. It’ll be somewhere pretty grand, so wear something really nice.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Tom. I haven’t got anything really nice. Just a couple of smocks, remember? One of which you said reminded you of what your mother wore when she was doing the housework.’

  ‘I would never say anything like that.’

  ‘Well, you did. Anyway, it doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Well, go out and buy something. We can’t afford it, but the occasion merits a bit of an overdraft.’

  ‘All right, and thank you. But Tom, wouldn’t it be better if you went alone?’

  ‘No, Alice, it wouldn’t be better. This is a joint enterprise, and Donald wants to treat us both.’

  There was a hint of the ruthless Tom she had seen for the first time so recently. The last thing she felt like doing was going out into hot crowded shops and pushing her vast self into a series of hideous garments that wouldn’t fit her, but she knew she had no option.

  ‘All right, Tom, I’ll do that,’ she said. ‘And please thank Donald for including me.’

  This was a mistake. ‘Alice,’ said Tom, ‘do I have to say it again? This is something we’re doing together. Of course you should be there tonight.’

  ‘Tom? Tom Knelston? Is that you?’

  He knew that voice. Cut-glass posh, slightly husky. But it wasn’t quite itself. Not as self-assured, or as strong.

  ‘Diana, what is it? You sound upset.’

  ‘You recognised my voice. I’m flattered.’

  ‘Of course I did. Is something the matter?’

  ‘You could say so. Tom, Friend Tom – you haven’t forgotten, have you, you promised to be my friend?’

  ‘Of course I haven’t forgotten.’ But he hadn’t thought it meant anything, just an idle flirtatious request.

  ‘Good. I really need to talk to you. Can you meet me this evening?’

  ‘Well –’

  He had promised Alice to be home very much on time. He owed her a lot – they’d had a successful dinner with Donald Herbert – and she wanted his help decorating the nursery.

  ‘Tom, please. It’s really important.’

  ‘Well – all right. But I can’t be long. Where were you thinking of?’

  ‘I’m staying at Wendelien’s house, but she’s away. Could you come there?’

  ‘Well – well, yes, all right.’ It was probably safer than some public place. ‘Where is it?’

  ‘They’ve moved to a little mews off Baker Street. Padster Mews, number nine. Just whenever you can get away.’

  ‘Six? Six thirty?’

  ‘Marvellous. Thank you, Tom. I’ll have a gin and tonic at the ready.’

  ‘You’d better not,’ he said. ‘I’m going to have to invent a very lengthy client meeting for Alice. At which there would be no place for gin and tonic.’

  He didn’t reach Padster Mews until almost seven. The buses were few and slow; and then it was hard to find. It was very pretty of course, and number nine had clearly been built across two sets of stables.

  ‘Can I get you anything? A beer, coffee … ?’

  ‘Cup of tea would be nice. A large one.’

  ‘You shall have it. Oh, Tom, I’m so glad to see you. Let me just get your tea and I’ll start.’

  She was back quickly, bearing two rather small mugs of tea. ‘These are the biggest I could find.’

  ‘Thank you. Now – come on. You have all your friend’s attention.’

  ‘All right. I might cry a bit.’

  ‘That’s OK. I’m used to women’s tears.’ He looked at her. ‘Well, you’re not pregnant. As you were planning. Didn’t it work out?’

  ‘I – well, I wasn’t actually planning it. That was a lie. I was pregnant. Just over three months. But – well, I lost it.’ Her voice shook. ‘It was so sad, I really, really wanted that baby. Anyway, Johnathan came down, and he was dreadfully upset too; he couldn’t have been sweeter. And when we got back to Yorkshire, even the wicked witch was kind to me. But it didn’t help. I got more and more depressed, couldn’t sleep, cried all the time, and Johnathan kept saying there could always be another baby, stupid things like that.’

  It didn’t sound that stupid to Tom, but he didn’t say so.

  ‘Then, out of the blue, Blanche called – you met her at the funfair that day, the fashion editor of Style. Anyway, she said how sorry she was to hear about the baby, but she still hadn’t got anyone for Paris – for the collections, you know –’

  Tom nodded wisely.

  ‘And it was like the sun suddenly coming out, and I just knew, absolutely knew, that was the thing to do. Go to Paris, work hard and then come back and maybe then I’d feel brave enough to have another baby. Anyway, I went to talk to Johnathan, and said how I felt so much better, just thinking about it, and I hoped it would be all right – I’d only be away for a week. And he went very quiet, and said he’d think about it and the next day he came into the morning room and accused me of having an abortion.’

  ‘What!’ Tom was shocked. Literally, physically shocked. He had wondered about Johnathan, of course, how he could be so tolerant as to let his wife come to London for days at a time, to be photographed and feted, leaving her husband and little boy to fend for themselves – although of course there was always the omnipresent staff, Nanny and the housekeeper; it was different if you were rich.

  But – clearly it wasn’t. The long-suffering, patient, generous-hearted Johnathan was like any other man, hurt, angry and jealous.

  ‘Yes. He said it was very odd I had chosen to go to London then, when it was just within the time limit for an abortion; that
it was my way out of it, and my excuse to go on going to London and “racket about with your friends” as he put it. I was so shocked and hurt, I didn’t know what to do or say, I just went to my room and stayed there.

  ‘There were three awful days when he wouldn’t even speak to me. Finally I said to him at breakfast that if he wasn’t going to speak to me, and he thought that badly of me, I might as well say yes to Paris.

  ‘Whereupon he said if I did go he would divorce me, he had plenty of grounds. I don’t know that he has. Oh, Tom, it’s so dreadful. I’d never see Jamie again. I don’t know where to turn. Or what to do. But the worst thing, and you’ve got to believe me, is that I would never, ever have an abortion. I just wouldn’t, I couldn’t.’

  She started to cry. Tom put first one arm round her shoulders and then rather nervously the other, and held her while she sobbed, saying nothing, occasionally stroking her hair and once or twice kissing the top of her head; and she clung to him as if she was in actual physical danger, as if he was some kind of rock, a refuge against the storm that raged about her.

  Finally she released herself with a huge shuddering sigh, and tried to smile, her face swollen from crying and oddly distorted. ‘What shall I do, Tom? I just don’t know what to do. Oh, look, please have a drink, I need one so terribly and I can’t drink alone, it’s such an awful thing to do.’

  What an extraordinary creature she was, Tom thought, talking as if drinking alone was as heinous a crime as – well, having an abortion. He released her carefully, set her back from him on the sofa and smiled.

  ‘I think in this particular instance, it would be all right. You have a gin and tonic and I’ll just have tonic. I daren’t arrive home late and drunk.’

  ‘Is your wife such a tyrant?’ she said, getting up and going over to what he presumed was that mysterious thing, a drinks trolley.

  ‘No, she’s an angel,’ said Tom. ‘She’s incredibly supportive in many ways and I don’t deserve her.’

  ‘Well, I hope she deserves you, Friend Tom. Now what should I do? Please tell me.’

  ‘I honestly don’t know,’ said Tom, sipping his tonic. ‘But people do say horrible things when they’re hurt and upset. I’m sure he was very unhappy about the baby too.’

  ‘Yes, well, you of all people should know that,’ said Diana soberly.

  ‘I do,’ said Tom quietly, drinking the tonic water rather fast.

  ‘Anyway, what should I do?’

  ‘Well, don’t give up on Johnathan yet,’ said Tom. ‘I know it was a terrible thing to say, but unhappiness makes us cruel. I’ve said some pretty harsh things to Alice from time to time. I’d put quite a lot of money, if I had any, on his coming round and apologising. If he doesn’t, if it goes on, then obviously you have to think again.’

  ‘I should never have married him,’ said Diana sadly. ‘It was very wrong of me.’

  Tom looked at her sharply. ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Because I didn’t love him,’ said Diana. ‘All right then, I’ll try to do what you say. And should I go to Paris, do you think? It really would cheer me up.’

  ‘Absolutely not,’ said Tom, sounding as stern as he could. ‘You’d wipe out any goodwill at a stroke.’

  She sighed, then managed a watery smile.

  ‘All right. I’ll do my best. But I can’t promise anything. You’ve no idea what it’s like living with someone who hates you. Or at best dislikes and mistrusts you. That hurts. Oh, Tom, dear Friend Tom, I know you’ve got to go, but thank you so much for coming and listening to me, and advising me. Just talking to you has made me feel better. I just hope I can do the same for you one day. Contrary to what you might think, I’m very good at keeping secrets. Go on, home to Alice the angel and I’ll hope to see you very soon.’

  She was very tall, hardly had to reach up to kiss him, but she did, a long, gentle kiss on the lips. It was confusing, that kiss, albeit not in the least carnal. Tom said good luck, and half stumbled out of the front door and down into the perfectly groomed Padster Mews, where he stood for a while, taking deep breaths and steadying himself.

  She was danger, was Diana Southcott. He was more aware of it with every meeting. He started to run, hoping for three things. That Alice wouldn’t be too cross with him; that he had no lingering whiff of Diana’s heady, heavy perfume about him; and that she would not go to Paris.

  Chapter 30

  1952

  Paris was wonderful. Diana hadn’t enjoyed herself so much since her coming-out year. Of course it wasn’t all parties and fun; it was hard work. But she loved it.

  Going to Paris to be photographed in haute-couture clothes sounded as if you wafted about from designer to designer, drinking a lot of champagne and eating wonderful Parisian food. But you saw very little of Paris, merely moved from studio to studio in a series of taxis, and as everyone was working and needed to stay fully alert, it was unwise to drink much. There was certainly no eating of Parisian food, except a few morsels here and there, lest a pound might creep onto one’s slender frame. And slender it had to be. There was only one example of each garment, and that was the one worn by models at the shows; if you didn’t fit into it – and they were all about the same size – you were useless and sent home. Diana only ate the equivalent of about three meals in the entire week she was there.

  The real work took place at night, and very often until dawn. During the day, the fashion editors were at the shows, seated on tiny uncomfortable gilt chairs in appalling heat. They would arrive at whatever studio had been arranged, already exhausted. Photographs and even sketches were forbidden at the shows; there was a strict embargo of several weeks before anything visual could leave the showrooms. All that was permitted was descriptive copy, and perhaps a drawing of a hat or some gloves, as shown on the programme. This was the law laid down by the Chambre Syndicale, the all-powerful body that controlled the fashion business in Paris, lest the wholesalers, the stark enemy of couture, should rush out cheap copies and have them on the streets in days at a fraction of the cost. It was not for this that six months’ intense, expensive work had been done, by some of the most dedicated and brilliant designers, pattern and toile makers, dressmakers, shoemakers. And jewellers, for many of the evening and cocktail dresses were exquisitely embroidered with dazzling coloured and crystal jewellery. At the end of a show there would be a stampede by the editors to ‘reserve’ one or more dresses from the directrice that they could photograph; often to be told – unless they were near the front of the queue – that it was booked continuously for days. And so through the night, studios all over Paris were alive. Much of it was spent waiting, for taxis trundling across Paris, bearing a garment being photographed by another magazine, and the more popular the garment, the longer the wait for its release. Bargaining went on, as one fashion editor telephoned another in their respective studios: ‘I believe you’ve got Cardin 23 – if you send it over I’ll send you Balmain 48, which I know you’re waiting for.’

  It was strictly forbidden to take a dress out of the building to photograph it, but some photographs where there were accessible roof spaces were taken in the lovely, early Parisian dawn. Diana found herself at five o’clock one morning climbing a fire escape ladder up to a studio roof, wearing a Balenciaga evening gown, its hem held up with Sellotape until she reached the top in safety; the result was glorious but the risk horrendous. As Blanche said cheerfully when they were safely back in the studio, drinking the black coffee that had become their staple diet, ‘I don’t know which would have been worse, Diana, if the dress had been damaged or you.’

  There were a few parties; but for the most part attended by the fashion editors, not the models. Sometimes if you’d been working particularly hard or being creative you’d be taken along, or if you had an ‘in’ with the editor, but on the whole they were by invitation only. Diana managed to wangle her way into the party given by Sam White, the wonderfully charming American who ran the Paris press agency for the Herald Tribune. She was told she was
lucky because it was legendary and indeed it was: more like the traditional view of Paris week, held at the Ritz, with limitless champagne and dozens of famous faces.

  Diana worked with some of the greatest names in fashion photography, including her beloved John French, and returned to England exhausted, happy and having learned a great deal. She felt she had been to some enchanted place, a wonderland to which she could return many times, should she so wish. It all rather depended on what she – and Johnathan – decided to do.

  ‘Jillie –’

  It was only six in the morning, but Tom knew she wouldn’t mind being woken.

  ‘Yes. Tom, is something the matter with Alice …’

  ‘There is nothing the matter with Alice. She is very well and so is our son.’

  ‘Your son! But it’s almost three weeks until B Day!’

  ‘I know. But he started making his presence felt around seven last night. And was born half an hour ago.’

  ‘Oh, Tom, how lovely. What’s he called, and how much did he weigh, and when can I go and see them both?’

  ‘Not till visiting time,’ said Tom. ‘Six o’clock this evening. He’s called Christopher but to be known as Kit. No reason except we like it. He’s the jolliest little chap, six pounds twelve ounces, and Alice was just amazing, so brave, made no fuss at all. I was allowed in to see them about ten minutes after he was born, and the midwife said she wished all the mothers were like Alice. She was sitting up, all rosy and pleased with herself when I went in, and so happy, I’ve never seen her so happy. I can’t quite believe it’s over and he’s safely here. I know I kept saying I wasn’t worried, but of course I was.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Jillie. ‘Oh, I can’t wait to meet him.’

  Alice sat in bed, cuddling Kit, and thought how lucky she was.

  She had hoped so much for a boy so that there could be no question of competing with Hope’s memory, and here he was, born so quickly and comparatively easily.

  Motherhood became her as much as pregnancy had not. She felt strong and well and amazed everybody by getting out of bed in the afternoon and walking to the bathroom. Her milk flowed, and while the other mothers struggled to get their babies latched onto the breast, she felt Kit clamp his small greedy mouth round her nipples and suck until he was replete. After which he slept, for up to four hours at a time. She was much envied for this, especially the night feeds when, summoned to the nursery where all the babies slept, she was only out of bed for about twenty minutes, after which they both went back to sleep.