Daphne had begun to feel a little chilly and about to move on. She was suddenly tense beside him; the moment had come. ‘Felix?’
He turned to face her then, putting his hands on her shoulders and looking down into the soft blue eyes that had captured him and now gazed up at him.
‘I said, will you marry me?’
‘Do you really mean it?’ Daphne breathed, hardly able to believe he’d finally asked.
‘Of course I mean it.’ Felix held her gaze. ‘Will you?’
Daphne nearly accepted him immediately, but caution made her decide to tackle the obstacle of her family head on and she said, ‘But your parents. They’ll want you to marry someone of your own class, not someone from the backstreets of Hackney.’
‘My parents will be only too delighted that I’ve finally met a girl I want to marry. They’ll love you, my darling girl, just as I do. I promise you.’ And as he said the words, Felix truly believed them.
Daphne gave him an ecstatic smile. ‘Oh, Felix, darling, of course I will.’ She raised her face to be kissed and Felix held her as if he’d never let her go.
The next time they met, he brought her an engagement ring. As he slipped it on to the third finger of her left hand, he tentatively suggested that they might spend the night together at his flat in Oakley Street.
It wasn’t the first time he’d suggested it, but Daphne gave him a warm smile and shook her head.
‘Felix, darling, it sounds lovely, but we can’t. I want to save myself for our wedding night. I always promised myself I’d come to my husband on my wedding night as a virgin.’ She kissed him gently and then drew away. ‘And that’s still what I want. I want our wedding night to be absolutely perfect.’
‘So do I,’ Felix somewhat reluctantly agreed. ‘So, let’s get married straight away.’
The words were music to Daphne’s ears. ‘Of course, my love. As soon as it can be arranged.’
‘We should talk to your parents about a date,’ suggested Felix. ‘You’ll need time to get the wedding organised.’
‘No!’ Daphne almost shouted the word and seeing his startled expression, said more calmly, ‘No, Felix. I just... well, I just want something quiet. You know, a registry office...’
‘That’s fine,’ Felix agreed. He didn’t want a flash wedding either. ‘But even so, your parents will want to be there, your father to give you away.’
‘No,’ repeated Daphne. ‘No fuss. I just want us to get married, just us and a couple of witnesses. Really, no fuss.’
‘I’ll have to tell my parents,’ Felix said, ‘and invite them to be there.’
‘If you must.’ Daphne sighed. ‘But I haven’t seen my parents for years, and I don’t want to see them now.’
Felix reluctantly agreed, guiltily acknowledging to himself that it would make life easier if Daphne’s parents were not there; there need be no revelations about her family background.
Daphne had to accept, however, that Felix wanted her to meet his parents, and now she was sitting in the dining car of the train on her way to Wynsdown. She glanced down at the engagement ring, a deep blue sapphire within a circle of diamonds.
‘It was my grandmother’s engagement ring,’ Felix had told her. ‘She left it to me and now I give it to you.’
Daphne would have preferred a solitaire diamond, but she was in no position to complain. Until the engagement ring translated into a wedding ring, she would risk nothing.
Fred Jones was waiting at the station and he greeted Felix with a smile.
‘Welcome home, Mr Felix, it’s been too long.’
Felix laughed. ‘Don’t you start, Fred. I’ll get enough of that from my mother!’ He gestured to Daphne. ‘And this is my fiancée, Miss Daphne Higgins.’
Fred touched his cap and said, ‘Howdy-do, miss,’ before opening the door so that Felix could hand her into the car.
As they drove over the hill towards Wynsdown, Daphne stared out of the window. The gorge through which the road twisted and turned had enormously steep, craggy sides. Thin vegetation clung to the rocks which towered upward against the pale blue of an autumn sky. Eventually they emerged on to the hill top and Daphne found herself gazing out across wide, undulating country, bathed in sunlight. Hedges and moss-covered stone walls marked off fields, patches of woodland broke the skyline, and tucked in the sheltered folds of the land, an occasional farmhouse or barn. The sun struck colour from the hedgerows and the woodland glowed with autumn reds and golds. For someone brought up in the crowded East End of London, where the streets were narrow and houses jostled each other for space, it all looked empty and bleak. Sheep grazed the fields and a herd of cows was gathered at a farm gate waiting for evening milking. Sheep and cows! Where were all the inhabitants?
Fred and Felix were chatting, talking about people she’d never heard of and as they finally turned into the village of Wynsdown she was becoming more and more disheartened. As Fred swung the car round the village green and into the lane that led to the manor, she saw a small group standing outside the pub, the Magpie, watching. One small child waved and Felix waved back.
‘Who was that waving?’ she asked a little pettishly. She was tired of Felix paying her no attention.
‘Haven’t a clue,’ laughed Felix cheerfully. ‘Probably wasn’t born last time I was home. Who was it, Fred, the kid who waved?’
‘That was little Johnny Shepherd, Billy Shepherd from Charing Farm’s lad.’
‘Billy’s married?’
‘Yes, he married that Charlotte, what was a German refugee.’ He turned in between some tall stone gateposts and pulled up outside the manor house. ‘Now then, Mr Felix, here we are.’ As the car crunched to a halt, the front door opened and two Labradors erupted into the driveway, followed a little more slowly by Felix’s parents, Peter and Marjorie Bellinger. Daphne stared at them through the car window as Felix jumped out to greet them. They stood side by side in the doorway, waiting, as Felix, shooing the excited dogs away, hurried across to them.
Major Bellinger looked all right, Daphne decided, tall and soldier-straight, his white hair cut short and smoothed across his head, a neat white moustache above his mouth. She could see the likeness to Felix.
That’s how Felix’ll look when he’s old, she thought as he shook hands with his son. He was dressed in grey trousers and a navy-blue blazer over a white shirt and some sort of regimental tie, navy-blue with red zigzags across it. He’ll be all right, Daphne thought. She was sure she could win him over, given a little time. Felix’s mother, though, was another matter altogether. Daphne watched as Felix hugged her, not at all sure she liked the look of her prospective mother-in-law. She wore a coffee-coloured suit, with a straight skirt, fitted at the waist. The jacket had a neat collar, buttoned down with ornate metal buttons, and four matching buttons down the front. Her lipstick was red, her nose powdered, her grey hair permed into regimented curls.
Mutton dressed as lamb, thought Daphne as she pinned a smile to her lips and taking Felix’s hand, eased her legs elegantly out of the car.
‘Mother, Dad,’ Felix said, proudly leading her forward, ‘I’d like you to meet Daphne, my wife to be.’
‘Welcome to Wynsdown, my dear,’ Peter Bellinger said and held out his hand.
‘Pleased to meet you, I’m sure,’ trilled Daphne as she shook the proffered hand.
‘Daphne, welcome,’ said Marjorie, ‘we’re so glad you could come. Come along in. You must be dying for a cup of tea.’ And Daphne followed her through the front door into the house that, one day, could be her home.
4
Charlotte and her family were among the group who saw Felix and his fiancée arrive that Saturday afternoon. They were crossing the village green to the vicarage to make the final arrangements for the christening next morning, when Fred Jones’s taxi swept round the corner. Johnny waved excitedly at the car, and was delighted when the man inside waved back to him.
‘Did you see, Mummy, did you see? That man waved to me.’
<
br /> ‘So he did,’ Charlotte agreed. ‘Wasn’t that nice of him?’
‘That must be Felix Bellinger and his fiancée,’ Clare said. ‘Nancy Bright says he looks like Clark Gable.’
‘I know,’ laughed Charlotte. ‘She told me that, too.’
‘Didn’t see much of her, though, did we?’ Clare shifted awkwardly, trying to ease the ache in her back. Her first baby was due any time and she was decidedly uncomfortable.
‘Fair hair and a hat,’ replied Charlotte. ‘She’ll probably be in church tomorrow.’
Clare’s eyes widened. ‘Ooh, d’you think she will?’
‘I expect so,’ said Charlotte. ‘Major Bellinger’s a church warden, isn’t he?’
‘And your Edie’ll steal the show,’ grinned Clare.
‘More likely everyone’ll be looking at Daphne and no one’ll give Edie a thought,’ answered Charlotte. ‘I bet the vicar’ll find his church overflowing tomorrow.’
Charlotte was right. When the christening party reached the church the next morning, a large crowd was standing outside in the sun. Major Bellinger was already there, and for a moment there was a palpable disappointment as the gathered group thought that Mrs Bellinger, Felix and the famous fiancée were not. Billy greeted his parents and Jane who were waiting at the door and then led his family inside. They sat at the back near the font, Caroline and Clare sharing a pew with Uncle Dan; the rest of the family spread through the next two rows. The five-minute bell was ringing and people began to file into the church, some stopping to admire Edie, who, wearing the trailing lace of the Shepherds’ family christening robe, looked like an icicle in Charlotte’s arms, but as the final tones of the bell began to toll, Marjorie Bellinger walked into the church, followed by Felix and Daphne, and took their places in the manor pew.
Daphne had not wanted to go to church that morning. She was not a church-goer and hadn’t thought Felix was either, but to her surprise he insisted that they accompany his parents.
‘Do we really have to?’ she moaned. ‘Can’t we just stay here until they get back?’
‘No.’ Felix was adamant. ‘It’s only for an hour, and it’s expected.’
‘Who by?’
‘By the village,’ replied Felix. ‘Come on, darling. The parents will be very disappointed if you don’t come, too.’
‘Come, too? You mean you’ll go without me?’
‘Yes,’ Felix told her. ‘I have to go, and I wanted you by my side.’ He kissed her sulky mouth. ‘I want to show you off to everyone. I want them to see how beautiful my future wife is. Come on, Daph, put your hat on.’
Daphne had given in and as they walked into the church she was aware that all eyes were on her, assessing, admiring, curious. She was pleased that she’d bought a new hat to go with her blue dress specially for this visit. While she sat through the service, her mind was miles away, going over the events of the previous evening.
The manor was not as she’d imagined it at all. She had thought it would be tall, three storeys at least, with high windows and tall chimney pots. It was a disappointment. It was long and low, built of grey stone, with a sloping slate roof. There were chimneys, but they were short, with cowls on the top to discourage birds from nesting, not like the tall, brick-built chimneys she’d seen pictured in books. However, when they entered the house, Daphne found herself in an open hallway with cheerful rugs on its polished wood floor. A staircase curved up to the landing above and through an open door she could see comfortable furniture grouped round the fireplace. Three other oak-panelled doors led off the hall, but they were all closed, and a passageway branched off towards the back of the house, to the kitchen? Or the servants’ quarters?
Mrs Bellinger had shown her up to a guest bedroom that looked out over the garden. There was a double bed covered in a white quilt, a chest of drawers, a dressing table and a big old wardrobe. The walls were papered with faded pale green floral paper, and the windows curtained in rather tired dark green velvet. Daphne paused in the doorway, looking round her.
‘I think you’ll find the bed comfortable,’ Mrs Bellinger said. ‘The bathroom is next door and the lavatory next again. I’m sure you’ll want to take off your hat and wash your hands before we have tea, so I’ll leave you to it. Just come down when you’re ready.’
The words were friendly enough, but Daphne felt the eyes assessing her and knew that she was under scrutiny.
When she was left alone she went to the window and looked out over the garden. It was large and well kept. A smooth lawn bordered with flowerbeds bright with autumn colour. A rainbow of dahlias filled one flowerbed and there were Michaelmas daisies standing tall along the fence that divided off the kitchen garden. Beyond the garden there seemed to be a paddock of some sort, where Daphne could see two horses grazing peacefully in the afternoon sun.
At that moment there was a tap on the door and when she called ‘Come in,’ Felix appeared with her suitcase.
‘Thought you might need this,’ he said, depositing it on the dressing-table stool. ‘You all right? My room’s just across the landing.’
‘Yes, I’m fine,’ Daphne said sharply. ‘I’ll be down in a minute.’
‘Good. Tea’ll be in the drawing room.’ Felix smiled at her and disappeared.
‘Drawing room,’ she murmured. She must remember to call it ‘the drawing room’. She’d only just got used to saying ‘lounge’ instead of ‘front room’.
Quickly she removed her hat and gloves, went to the lavatory and then downstairs. She was determined they shouldn’t have time to discuss her with Felix.
In the drawing room, she found them sitting in comfortable armchairs, with afternoon tea laid out on a small table beside Mrs Bellinger. As she came through the door both men got to their feet, and Felix came forward to lead her to the sofa and then sat down beside her.
Daphne let her left hand rest lightly on the arm of the sofa, so that her engagement ring sparkled in a shaft of sunlight.
‘That’s a beautiful ring you’ve got there, my dear,’ said the major with a smile. ‘A beautiful ring for a beautiful girl.’
‘Oh, reely, Major Bellinger,’ Daphne said with a flutter of eyelashes, ‘you shouldn’t say such things!’
‘It’s the one Gran left me,’ Felix said. ‘It’s right it should go to my wife.’
Mrs Bellinger picked up the teapot and looking across at her said, ‘Daphne, my dear. How do you take your tea?’
Daphne leaned back on the sofa and said, ‘Oh, just as it comes, no sugar, thank you, Mrs Bellinger.’
Mrs Bellinger poured the tea and Felix handed first the cups and then the cucumber sandwiches, small triangles with the crusts cut off.
‘The cucumbers come from our own greenhouse,’ Mrs Bellinger said, ‘and though we cut the crusts off the sandwiches, they’re never wasted.’ She smiled at Felix. ‘Your favourite bread and butter pudding this evening.’ Adding ruefully, ‘Though more bread than butter these days, I’m afraid!’
Daphne had tried to look interested in this and the other small talk over the teacups. She must do her best to please Felix. She balanced a plate on her knee as she ate the sandwiches and holding the saucer, she raised her cup delicately to her mouth as she’d seen others do. She wanted to show them that she knew her manners.
The rest of the day dragged by. She’d been shown the garden, including the vegetable garden and the greenhouse, where she’d admired the tomatoes and cucumbers; she’d been taken through the stable yard and out to the paddock where she dutifully looked at the horses. One of them came up to the fence where they were standing, he was a big bay with a white blaze down his nose. Daphne took a hasty step back, but Felix stroked his nose and feeling in his pocket gave him half a carrot.
‘This one’s mine,’ Felix said. ‘Archie. And the other one, Jester, is Dad’s. Come on, let’s go back in.’ He took her hand and led her in through the back door. Daphne was glad to get back inside the house. There was too much outdoors here for her liking.
The dinner was excellent and it was over the dinner table that, at last, the wedding became the topic of conversation. Somehow they had danced round the subject during the afternoon, but as they sat at the table and ate roast lamb followed by the promised bread and butter pudding, it could no longer be avoided.
‘Felix says you’re going to be married in London,’ said Mrs Bellinger. ‘Not near your own home?’
Felix knew she was fishing and he cut in quickly, ‘I told you, Mother, it’s all set for two weeks’ time. Chelsea Town Hall, Saturday, the first of October at twelve o’clock.’
‘Of course. I look forward to meeting your family, Daphne. Do they live in London?’
‘I’m afraid they won’t be there, Mrs Bellinger, we’re not really in contact any more.’
Marjorie Bellinger raised her eyebrows in surprise and was about to speak again when a fierce and quelling look from Felix changed her mind.
‘Yes, twelve o’clock ceremony,’ he said, ‘and then I’ve reserved us a table at the Savoy Grill.’
‘The Savoy?’ cried his mother. ‘You are splashing out!’
‘The Savoy,’ repeated Felix, pleased that his diversionary tactic had worked. ‘It’s not every day we get married!’
‘Well, that must be our treat,’ said his father. ‘Our contribution to your wedding!’
Felix looked at him with affection. ‘Thanks, Dad, that’s very generous.’
‘Have you found somewhere to live yet?’ asked his father.
‘For the moment we’re going to stay on in my flat,’ Felix replied. ‘It’s a bit small, but it’ll do till we can find somewhere bigger.’
‘That’s very convenient,’ remarked Marjorie. ‘And where do you live at present, Daphne?’
The Married Girls Page 4