A Question of Trust

by Penny Vincenzi

  He spoke passionately of the National Health Service, one of the party’s proudest achievements. ‘We are all shocked by apartheid,’ he said. ‘But that was exactly what we had here, before Bevan launched the National Health Service. Good healthcare for the fortunate few with money; little or none for the unfortunate many.’ He spoke of Labour’s heart, of its passion to see justice done, of its determination to educate every child in the land, its promise that every family should be in decent, rather than adequate, housing. He looked extraordinary, standing there, eyes blazing, his hair wild as he pushed his hands through it every now and again. His speech was entirely unprepared; it took him by surprise, never mind his entourage. They and all those Labour voters, watching or listening at home, shook their heads in disappointment that they had not got this extraordinary young man as their representative, and more than a few hundred Tories had the same thought. When at last he became aware that his time was up, he stopped abruptly, and said, ‘Let me say, I will never, as long as I have breath in my body, abandon the party I love and all it has done for this country and indeed for you.’

  The next day it could have been assumed that Labour had won the by-election. Tom got far more coverage than the winning candidate. His potential, his talent for oratory, combined with his looks, his charm and his credentials – humble beginnings, grammar-school education, young family, pretty young wife – meant the press pounced upon him like some huge bird of prey, picking him up, flying off with him, up towards the sun.

  Substantial quotes from Tom’s speech, referring to his passion for the National Health Service and his hero, Aneurin Bevan, appeared in the Daily Mirror and the Herald. The Mirror showed a picture of him at the count with Alice.

  Tom, stunned by the reaction, sat at his desk at Herbert & Herbert as everyone in the office came to congratulate him.

  ‘But I lost,’ he kept saying. ‘I didn’t win.’

  Donald Herbert arrived, almost as excited as if Tom had won. ‘You have won, Tom,’ he kept saying. ‘You, Tom Knelston, political force, the future is yours – nobody can take it from you.’

  Tom gave in and decided to bask in his own glory; he seemed, entirely by accident, to have gained a foothold into history. He was summoned to Transport House, feted there, promised a win in the next election. Alice, interviewed in the Daily Sketch in a feature that filled half a page, spoke of her faith in Tom and the Labour ideal.

  * * *

  Once the excitement, the euphoria, had gone, once he was back where he had been, an ambitious nobody with no constituency, Tom was as close to depression as he had ever been. This was not the wild grief he had experienced after Laura died; it was a dull heavy misery. Whatever people said, however much he was feted, and his speech quoted, he was a failure, and it hit him very hard. He went endlessly over ‘if only’s in his mind. If only he’d knocked on five more doors each day, if only he’d made a better speech at that librarians’ dinner – he’d been tired and a bit lacklustre, he knew – if only he’d supported the young mothers trying to open a crèche a bit more enthusiastically, if only he’d written a better speech for the Rotary Club, if only he’d done all those things, then he might have got five hundred more votes.

  Useless for Alice to tell him he was wonderful and it was only a very short year to the general election and another chance to win, or for Donald Herbert to promise he’d see him into a safe Labour seat; useless for Robert Herbert, who promised him a junior partnership in a year’s time, to tell him. He felt he had let not only himself down but also the Labour Party. He was a failure; and he couldn’t cope with it. As a miserable Alice said to Jillie, he had never known failure. All his life, apart from losing Laura – which was a dreadful thing but the blame for which could not possibly be set at his door – things had gone well for him, at school, at Pemberton & Marchant, during the war, and then at Herbert & Herbert. From his first tentative dip into the world of politics, he had succeeded.

  Jillie said that was true, but failure was a necessary ingredient to life’s mix and everyone should know something of it. ‘Look at me, I’m finding out about it too.’ Tom would get over it and be a better person and a better politician for it. Alice hoped she was right, and later decided she had been wrong.

  The small Miss Knelston, for whom neither Alice nor Tom had yet thought of a name, duly arrived three weeks early, just as her brother had, in the middle of the following April. She was almost as equable as her older brother – her birth as easy, and even swifter – and she lay, looking out at the world through eyes as wide and blue as his, clearly well satisfied with what she saw.

  It was one of Tom’s sisters, who gave her her name.

  ‘I once had a doll who looked a lot like her,’ she said. ‘Big blue eyes and little round mouth. She was called Lucy.’

  ‘Lucy!’ said Alice. ‘That’s lovely. If Tom likes it, then Lucy she shall be.’

  Tom liked it very much, but Kit’s version was Loopy; Alice rather feared that might stick.

  ‘Cheer up, Gunning. You look as if you’d lost a shilling and found sixpence.’

  ‘I haven’t found anything at all, actually,’ said Jamie.

  ‘What’s up, old chap?’

  ‘Oh, doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Course it does. We’re meant to be blood brothers, remember. Come on, spill the beans.’

  ‘Oh, all right,’ said Jamie. ‘But you are not to tell anybody, Richards – this is top secret.’

  ‘Blood brothers don’t tell on each other,’ said the small Richards. ‘We mingled our blood, didn’t we?’ And indeed they had, pricking their fingers and letting the drops of blood fall on a saucer and then mingling them carefully.

  So behind the squash courts, which was the accepted place for confidence sharing, Jamie told Richards the appalling news.

  ‘I got a letter from my mother this morning. She and my father are getting divorced.’

  ‘Oh, crikey,’ said Richards. ‘That is a bit rough. Funny way to do it, in a letter.’

  ‘They’re coming to see me on Sunday. Both of them. My mother said this would give me a chance to get used to the idea, before we all talked.’

  ‘Oh, I see. How rotten. Sorry. But you know Northfield’s parents are divorced. He says it’s really excellent. They both want him to like them best, so they give him amazing presents – his father gives him the top-class Meccano set, then his mother a full set of Biggles books and so on. Not all bad, you see.’

  Jamie contemplated this for a moment, then said, ‘I’d rather have two parents than a Meccano set.’

  ‘Well, of course,’ said Richards. ‘I’m just pointing out it’s not all bad.’

  Diana was in her version of behind the squash courts: a pub called the Salisbury in Charing Cross Road, waiting for the equivalent of her blood brother, one Tom Knelston. She wasn’t quite sure if she was waiting in vain. He had been quite cross when she called him, saying he was working on a difficult case and had to have the documentation finished by the last post.

  ‘Well, I’m sorry, but I need to talk to you, Friend Tom. Very badly. Couldn’t we meet after work?’

  ‘No, Diana, we couldn’t. I’ve got a wife and two small children at home, and I need to be there, helping Alice. She has a lot to do. She has to share me with the Labour Party as it is.’

  ‘Couldn’t you pretend I was an official of the Labour Party?’

  Tom tried and failed not to laugh. The concept of Diana Southcott, with her fame and beauty and her expensive clothes, taking on the persona of the Labour Party was so absurd it was funny.

  ‘There, you see, I’ve made you laugh. It’ll cheer you up meeting me at the Savoy. It can’t be that much fun at home with two tinies grizzling and filling their nappies.’

  ‘Kit and Lucy don’t grizzle,’ said Tom firmly and loyally.

  ‘What lovely names. Now come on, even if they don’t grizzle, I’m sure they fill their nappies.’

  ‘Well, they do but Diana, even if I did meet you, it co
uldn’t be at the Savoy. Someone might see me. It’s hardly a suitable venue for a prospective Labour MP.’

  ‘All right. Wherever you like. I know, there’s a lovely pub in Charing Cross Road called the Salisbury. It’s full of fairies. They love it there. Which reminds me, I want to ask you something. Will you meet me there? I really do need you, dear Friend Tom.’

  Twin visions swam before Tom’s eyes. One was of him removing a well-filled nappy before putting its owner into the bath and dealing with it, and then, bath-time done, washing the nappies, putting them through the mangle and hanging them outside; these were his regular evening activities as soon as he got home. The other was sitting in the Salisbury, the lovely pub in Charing Cross Road, all brass railings and etched glass, with a beautiful woman who was desperate to talk to him.

  ‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘I really can’t.’

  Alice had had a bad day; Lucy did grizzle occasionally when things were not entirely to her liking. Kit found it hilarious to imitate her. The noise had been going on all afternoon, and her head ached. She looked at her watch: Tom would be home soon and then she’d feel better. Although she did have something to tell him which certainly wouldn’t make him feel better. The one time Tom had suggested sex (that was yet another misery for her, his appearing to have completely gone off the whole thing) she had been so relieved, so hungry for it, she had decided not to go through the spell-breaking procedure of fetching and inserting her Dutch cap. Now, two weeks later, her period was a day overdue. Only a day – but her cycle ran like a clock. The thought of nine months of vomiting and exhaustion with two small children to care for at the same time, was too awful to contemplate.

  ‘I’ll have a gin and tonic, darling, please.’

  ‘OK. Now Diana, before we start, I have to leave by six thirty. I promised Alice I’d be home by seven and even that’ll be cutting it fine.’

  ‘I’ll be quick,’ she said. And watched him fondly as he went over to the bar, his tall figure and dark red hair cutting a swathe through the crowd.

  God, Tom was good-looking. And so sweet. Alice was a lucky girl. He returned with her gin and tonic and what looked like a tomato juice.

  ‘Cheers,’ she said, ‘and thank you so much for coming. Is that a Bloody Mary?’

  ‘No,’ said Tom. ‘A tomato juice. I’m not arriving home drunk as well as late. Now, what’s the matter?’

  She took a large sip of her drink and hesitated, looking into the glass. Then she said, ‘Johnathan wants a divorce. He wrote me a curt little note saying he wants to instigate proceedings. Gave me the name of his solicitors, to make it all easier and quicker.’

  ‘I’m so sorry. But … has he got grounds?’ She looked down into her drink; then up at him. He couldn’t quite analyse the expression on her face. It was – complex. Hurt, irritation, amusement and – what? Humiliation?

  ‘He’s providing them,’ she said, and smiled, a brisk bright smile. ‘It’s him who wants the divorce. So, aren’t I lucky?’

  ‘He’s providing them? But –’

  ‘No buts, darling. Apparently he has some woman up there. Mainstay – or one of them – of the local community. Name of Catherine. Very nice and admirable, but not exactly a looker. I can’t imagine what he sees in her.’

  Tom could imagine it all too well. Kindness. Loyalty. Appreciation. Love, even. He didn’t say all that, of course. ‘Diana, not all women can be beautiful fashion plates.’

  ‘No, of course not. I’m being bitchy. Obviously she gives him everything I don’t. And we couldn’t go on as we are. He deserves a proper decent wife. Apparently she’s marvellous with Jamie and he “adores her”, according to Johnathan. Now that does hurt.’

  ‘It must.’ He tried to imagine the pain of another man in Kit’s little life, another man who played with him and hugged him and made him laugh. It was awful.

  ‘Anyway, I deserve it all, of course I do. And it’s so lucky for me he’s got Catherine, not least because he might have delved into my life, looking for grounds. Well, he’d have found them, of course.’ Her dark eyes were brilliant with tears. ‘Darling, get me another drink, would you? A double this time.’

  Something akin to jealousy was going through Tom. A nasty pernicious little worm that was boring its way into somewhere at the heart of him, and that completely, illogically hurt.

  He went to the bar again, and got himself another tomato juice, went back.

  ‘I had an affair,’ she said. ‘With a photographer. Freddie Bateman. He’s awfully famous, have you heard of him?’

  ‘Rather strangely, not,’ said Tom, grinning suddenly and thinking how totally Diana must trust him to be giving him all these details. It made the worm feel less insidious.

  ‘He’s American. Awfully good-looking and a complete bastard, of course. Oh, dear …’ Her eyes brimmed with tears. ‘Sorry, Tom, sorry. It’s so nice to be able to talk about it.’

  ‘Well, I’m glad I can do something to help, and I’m sorry. But – forgive me for asking – why are you so upset about Johnathan wanting a divorce? You don’t seem to care about him in the least, you’ve got a life of your own, and you don’t move in the kind of circles that are going to ostracise you.’

  ‘It’s just that I feel very rejected. I mean, I did love Johnathan in the beginning. He certainly loved me.’

  ‘And – this Bateman fellow?’

  ‘It’s the thought of losing Jamie that really breaks my heart. I know I’m a pretty terrible person, but I am a good mother. I love him so much, and the thought of only seeing him – well, how often would I see him, do you think? I mean, he wouldn’t be taken away from me altogether, would he?’

  ‘Most unlikely,’ said Tom. ‘It’s not my bag, but I do know that much. Given that Johnathan’s admitting adultery himself. You’re Jamie’s mother, his natural mother. You’ll almost certainly get custody. It’s only that –’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well, you can’t offer the kind of home a little boy like Jamie is used to. In the country, riding, which you say he loves – I presume you’re moving down here?’

  ‘I can get a flat. A nice flat. And he doesn’t just care about ponies, he loves going to the pictures, and the theatre – well, pantomime, anyway. I could even take him to Battersea funfair,’ she said, with a sudden smile. ‘Perhaps you could come too.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Tom hastily. ‘What about your job? You’re always out and about and abroad.’

  ‘Oh, I can book myself out when Jamie’s with me. That’s not a problem. No, it’s just my rights to have him at all that I worry about.’

  ‘You have plenty of rights,’ said Tom gently.

  ‘Would you be my lawyer? Represent me. I know you’d be awfully good. Start work on the case until I can find someone of my own?’

  ‘No, Diana. I can’t do that. In the first place I don’t know anything about divorce law, and in the second – well – no. I’m sorry.’

  ‘So am I,’ she said, and her dark brown eyes seemed to probe into his. ‘Very sorry.’

  ‘But I can recommend someone very good, either up in Yorkshire or down here in London. Someone who you’ll like, and who will make out a good case for you.’

  ‘Thank you. Down here, I’d think, wouldn’t you? Now, let me get you another drink to say thank you. Same again?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ said Tom and then looked at his watch and called after her, ‘Diana! No. I’ve got to go.’

  But she didn’t hear him, or pretended not to. She came back in a remarkably short time, and said, ‘There you are. Only I asked them to put a drop of vodka in it so you can see how much nicer it is. It’s called a Bloody Mary.’

  ‘Oh, Diana, no. I can’t drink that, Alice will smell it and –’

  ‘No, she won’t,’ said Diana. ‘Vodka is undetectable on the breath. You’ll be fine. Now taste it. Isn’t it good?’

  Tom had to admit it was good, and that suddenly he felt good too, and – more than that – entitled to it.
He’d had a hard day as well as Alice, after all, and he had to go down to Purbridge first thing in the morning. An hour’s escape from it all didn’t seem such a lot to ask. He’d just tell Alice the meeting had gone on a bit.

  ‘It’s lovely,’ he said. ‘I’ve never tasted vodka before. Thank you, Diana.’

  ‘My pleasure.’ She smiled at him, then leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Dear Friend Tom. What would I do without you?’

  ‘A great deal, it seems,’ he said, and tried not to think about what it would be like to kiss her properly. ‘Now. You said you wanted to ask me something else. What was it?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Yes, so I did. Now don’t try and fob me off by saying you don’t know, because you must do, and remember, I’m not one of your terrible people who think they should be flogged, I love them, some of them are my best friends. And I shall know the answer anyway, just by looking at you. Is Ned Welles queer? Is that what the whole cancelled wedding thing was about?’

  Chapter 35

  1954

  ‘I just don’t know how you can be so cruel. It’s not my fault. If it’s anyone’s it’s yours. Although how we can be talking about it in terms of such a negative emotion, I don’t know.’

  ‘Is that so? Alice, we have two babies already; the house stinks of nappies, you’re exhausted and are about to become more so. We have no time together, no chance to talk about anything except how many so-called clever things Kit has done and whether Lucy is gaining weight. And then you expect me to give three cheers because all of the above is about to increase by one hundred per cent. Well, I can’t. I’ll support you to the best of my ability—’

  ‘That’s very good of you.’

  ‘—but you’re rubbing salt into the wound by demanding I should be pleased about it.’