by Caro Fraser
‘Look, I love you. I’m in love with you. And I think you’re in love with me.’ He hadn’t meant to say the words. They had come from nowhere, but now they were spoken, he realised how true they were.
Meg gave a gasp of laughter. ‘You are beyond belief. You’re shallow, casual, you’ll say whatever you think will get you some sex—’
‘That is preposterous.’
‘No, what is preposterous is that you tried to make love to me, and then when that didn’t work, you went off and got what you wanted somewhere else. It was a beastly way to behave.’ She paused, then added, ‘Paul would never dream of behaving like that.’
‘Bloody Paul!’ Dan swallowed the remains of his Scotch and banged down his glass. He stood up. ‘You know, Meg, you’re in danger of becoming just as much of a prig as he is. I told you I love you, and I meant it. That business with Diana was ridiculous. It wasn’t even my idea.’
‘You didn’t seem to be very much against it, from what I could see.’
‘There’s clearly nothing more to say. I’d better be going. It was a mistake to come here.’ Things had not gone as he had imagined. He’d made a complete mess of it all.
Dan crossed the room and opened the drawing-room door. Meg followed. She called to Dora to fetch Mr Ranscombe’s coat.
Dan paused on the doorstep. He turned to Meg. ‘Everything I said is true. But I can’t make you see it if you don’t want to. Happy Christmas.’
10
MEG SPENT CHRISTMAS Day with her mother, and in the evening Paul came to pick her up to take her back to the flat for supper with Diana and a few other friends.
‘What’s on earth is that?’ asked Paul, as Meg came downstairs with the wrapped-up gramophone in her arms.
‘It’s your Christmas present. You can open it later. Here – would you mind taking it? It’s rather heavy.’
‘I’ll say it is.’
Paul put his present in the boot of the car, and they set off. Snow was falling. The car was warm, Meg was wrapped in her fur coat, and Paul was humming some Christmas song as he drove. Meg watched the wipers swish back and forth, over and over, sweeping the snow away, and fell into a trance of thought. Here she was with Paul, safe and loved, travelling through the dark night. If only she could travel like this for ever, never having to arrive, never having to think about what lay beyond.
After several minutes she realised they weren’t taking the usual route.
‘Why are we coming this way?’
Paul pulled over to the side of the road, at the edge of the park. The broad street was deserted. Beneath the arc of the street lamps the snowflakes floated down in constant, hurrying drifts.
‘I wanted a romantic spot, and I’m afraid there’s a dearth of them in London on a cold Christmas night.’ He switched off the engine and turned to her. In the half-light his strong features had never looked more handsome and reassuring. ‘Open the glove box,’ he said.
Meg pressed the button on the glove box and it sprang open.
‘Look inside.’
Meg reached in and drew out a little leather box, wrapped with thin gold ribbon. She stared at it, then at Paul.
He smiled. ‘Go on – open it.’
Meg untied the ribbon and opened the box. Nestling on a bed of dark blue velvet was the loveliest ring Meg had ever seen, a square diamond surrounded by smaller diamonds and sapphires. She drew a breath. ‘Oh, Paul!’
‘Happy Christmas, and please, darling Meg – will you marry me?’
She gazed at the ring. She felt utter relief. Now she would be safe. Paul would build her a new world, and there she could take shelter from all doubt and anxiety. She was marrying a man who wanted only the best for her. How could she fail to be happy?
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Of course I will.’
He kissed her, and when he drew away she was touched and astonished to see his eyes were damp. ‘God, I was so afraid you might say no. You have no idea…’ He kissed her again, then looked down at the ring. ‘I hope you like it – it’s an Asscher cut. Quite unusual.’ He began to talk, saying something about Africa, and diamonds, and things a friend of his in the diamond business had told him. Meg didn’t listen. She was concentrating on the conviction that this was entirely what she wanted, and that from now on nothing else would matter in the world but Paul and her, and their future together.
‘Won’t you put it on?’ said Paul at last.
‘Gosh, yes – I hope it fits.’ Meg lifted the ring from its little cushion of velvet.
‘It will,’ laughed Paul. ‘I borrowed one of your rings from your mother to make entirely sure.’
‘You mean – my mother knew all about this?’
Paul nodded. ‘I’m afraid a chap can’t leave a thing like this to chance. Besides, I had to ask someone for your hand.’
If this thought disturbed Meg just a little, she didn’t show it. She slipped the ring on to her finger. It looked beautiful, the most incredibly beautiful thing anyone had ever given her. Impulsively, relieved at her own happiness, she flung her arms around him. ‘Oh, Paul, thank you. Thank you, my darling.’
They sat together for a little while longer, talking in low voices under the glow of the street lamps, happy in their own world.
At last Paul turned the key in the ignition. ‘Come on, time we got back. The others will be waiting for us. Diana is on tenterhooks.’
‘What – she knows too?’
‘Of course she does! There’s very little about my life that Diana doesn’t know.’ Paul changed down the gears as they rounded a corner. ‘Actually, everyone at supper tonight is waiting with bated breath.’
Did it trouble her that others had known Paul was going to propose to her, as though her engagement had been public property beforehand? If so, she put the thought aside. She stared down at her ring, turning her hand this way and that, gazing with pleasure at its elegant sparkle, shivering with pleasure at the thought of the adventure ahead of her.
*
When supper was over and their friends had departed, and Diana had decided to have an uncharacteristically early night, Meg and Paul were left alone. They sat together on the sofa, talking, watching the remnants of the fire burning low in the grate. Meg nestled in the crook of Paul’s arm, feeling safe and content. She twisted the ring on her finger, making it catch the light.
‘I’m glad you like your Christmas present,’ said Paul, kissing her forehead lightly.
‘I love it. The best present anyone ever gave me.’ She suddenly remembered. ‘You still haven’t opened my present to you!’ She got up and went to the hall, where the wrapped-up gramophone had been deposited earlier. She bore it back into the room and set it on the table near the fire. ‘Come on!’
Paul tore off the wrapping paper. He studied the gramophone with a bemused smile. ‘Thank you. It’s topping,’ he said. ‘But we already have one.’
‘But this is one you can carry about. You can take it on picnics and things.’
Meg had included four brand-new records in their cardboard sleeves, and Paul studied them. ‘“The Sun Has Got His Hat On”? “Lullaby of Broadway”? I’m not sure if I know these.’
‘You’ll love them, I’m sure you will,’ said Meg enthusiastically. She selected one and took it from its sleeve. ‘This is my favourite – “Cheek to Cheek”. It’s from that Fred Astaire film.’
‘I’m not actually terribly keen on the cinema, you know.’
Meg remembered, with faint misgiving, the few times she and Paul had gone together to films she had enthusiastically wanted to see. Had he really gone on sufferance?
‘Well, maybe not, but you can’t help liking the song. Here.’ She inserted the gramophone’s little metal handle in its side and wound it up, then placed the record on the turntable and set it spinning. Carefully she lowered the needle, and the strains of music filled the room. She took Paul’s hand. ‘Come on. Let’s have a dance!’
Not entirely willingly, Paul got to his feet and took a few step
s round the room with her. Then he stopped. ‘You know dancing’s not my thing, darling. Let’s just sit and listen, shall we?’
‘Oh.’ Meg was disappointed. They sat together on the sofa. Paul listened to the record in a self-conscious way, tapping his fingers on the arm of the sofa, not quite in time to the music. Meg could tell he was only listening to please her. It wasn’t that he disliked the music, she realised – it simply meant nothing to him. She felt a tiny anguish; she loved popular songs, films too, for that matter, and she wanted to double her pleasure by having Paul enjoy them just as much. That wasn’t likely to happen. Still, no two people could share absolutely everything.
The record came to an end, and Paul took the record from the turntable and put it back in its sleeve. Then he closed the gramophone. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘It’s a lovely present. Now, it’s time I drove you home.’
That was Paul all over, thought Meg. They might be engaged, but he was still going to behave entirely properly until they were married, of that she was sure.
*
A week later, on New Year’s Eve, Dan was in a Soho pub with Harry when a mutual friend at the bar happened to mention Meg and Paul’s engagement. Dan feigned casual interest, but in fact he found the news intensely painful. He went back to the table with the beers he had bought for himself and Harry.
‘Who was the chap you were talking to at the bar?’ asked Harry.
‘Just a friend, delivering a not very good piece of news.’
‘Oh?’
‘That girl I told you about, the one I met last summer. She’s engaged to be married.’
Harry took a reflective swig of his pint. ‘Ah, well.’
‘I don’t believe she even loves the man. He’s wealthy, of course.’
‘Love is like any other luxury, Danny boy. You have to be able to afford it.’
‘He can’t possibly make her happy.’
‘Who knows what makes women happy? They’re complicated creatures. Or so I’ve always been given to understand. I really wouldn’t know.’
Dan shook his head. ‘I could never tell anyone but you, Harry, but I think I was – am – sort of in love with her. I feel as though someone has just dug a very deep, dark hole and chucked me in it.’
Harry gave his friend a wry smile. ‘Dan Ranscombe, the London Lothario – in love? There’s hope for you yet, my boy.’ He picked up his pint. ‘Come on, drink up. Thanks to my superb social connections, we have any number of New Year’s Eve parties to go to, where you can drown your sorrows.’
*
A few minutes after midnight, in the midst of a sea of uproarious New Year revellers, Dan put both his hands on Harry’s shoulders and stared at him intently. The gesture helped to steady Harry, who was very tipsy. For a worrying moment he thought Dan was going to kiss him, but instead Dan shouted over the noise of the party, ‘I’ve made a decision!’
Harry shook his head. ‘Not a good thing to do when you’re drunk!’ he shouted back.
Dan tried to speak again, but the din was too much. He waved a hand in the direction of a doorway, and led Harry into another room which, though busy with drinkers and partygoers, was away from the music and somewhat quieter.
‘I’m only a bit drunk, and this is something I’ve been thinking of for a while. The business with that girl has made up my mind. I’m going to Spain.’
Harry groaned. ‘Not you, too. Why? To fight?’
‘God, no. I thought perhaps I could be a correspondent – you know, reporting back on what’s happening there. Might make a name for myself.’
Harry shook his head again. He leaned against the wall and lit a cigarette. When he looked up at Dan, it was with tears in his eyes. ‘Well, if you must go, try to bring Laurence back to me, there’s a love.’
Part 2
1937
1
MEG AND PAUL spent the months of spring looking for a suitable house. Paul was intent on finding a sizeable place in Berkshire, similar to his own childhood home.
‘I want our children to grow up in the countryside, just as Di and I did. We had a glorious time. London is all very well for single people, but a family needs room to grow. The kind of place I’m thinking of would have stables, a paddock, perhaps a lake and some woodland.’
‘Paul, we don’t need a stately home! Besides, I don’t ride.’
Paul was mystified. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who doesn’t ride. But not to worry. We’ll have you in the saddle and out in the hunting field in no time. My father used to hunt with the Old Berks, as did I, once upon a time. Can’t wait to get back to it.’
At the end of April the house agent sent Paul the particulars of a house that seemed to fire his enthusiasm.
‘It’s called Hazelhurst, just outside Alderworth village, a few miles from where we used to live,’ he told Meg. ‘Looks pretty much ideal. There are even some outhouses and barns which are perfect for conversion into a garage and workshop.’
Meg leafed through the particulars. Seven bedrooms, two drawing rooms, a billiard room, library, stable block – golly. The prospect of running such a place was daunting, but thrilling, too. She didn’t even have to ask Paul if they could afford it. One of the wonderful things about marrying Paul, she had to admit, was that she would never have to worry about money again; she would have more than enough to spend on all the things that made life worthwhile.
‘Guy and I have to go to France tomorrow to see a fellow in Le Mans,’ Paul went on, ‘but why don’t you drive over and see what you think?’
Motoring on her own to Berkshire to look over a mansion seemed to Meg a splendidly grown-up idea. Of course, as Mrs Paul Latimer she would soon be doing any number of grown-up things. She had a vision of her newly married self in some pleasant morning room, going through daily menus with her cook, then perhaps wandering to the garden with a trug and secateurs to cut flowers for the house and discuss seasonal planting with the gardener. Soon there might be a nursery to furnish; she pictured herself decorating a sunny room with pastel friezes of animals and nursery rhymes, taking trips to Heal’s to buy furniture, perhaps staying in a little London flat that she and Paul might keep for trips to town…
‘Are you paying attention, goose?’
Meg emerged from her daydream. ‘Sorry, I was miles away. What were you saying, darling?’
‘That I can ring the house agent in Reading first thing tomorrow, and he could meet you there with the keys.’
‘That’s all right. I’ll ring and make the arrangements myself. You have your trip to France to think about.’ Now that she had started to think in a grown-up way, she was determined to behave in the same fashion.
*
Hazelhurst was perfect in every way. Meg had feared that the house might be dauntingly large, but in fact the rooms, with their airy windows looking out on to the gardens and the surrounding woodland, were delightfully proportioned, and the atmosphere was warm and welcoming. It was built over three floors, and had a charming gallery of carved oak on the first floor overlooking the spacious entrance hall. The stable block was set at some distance from the house beyond the formal gardens and a large paddock. At an angle to the stables stood a large, disused barn. The barn was reached by a track branching off the main driveway and curving round a stand of elms. It would be perfect for Paul’s racing car workshop. Just what he wanted. They could – would – be very happy here.
‘It’s absolutely ideal,’ Meg told the house agent. ‘My fiancé is away at the moment, but he’ll be back at the end of the week. He can come down then and look around. I only hope he likes it as much as I do. Has there been much interest in the place?’ Meg’s heart began to beat a little harder at the thought that someone else might buy it before them. How she wished she could clinch the deal on the spot, here and now. But it was Paul’s money, and it would be Paul’s decision.
The house agent told her that the house had been on the market for two months, and that so far only two prospective buyers had been to
look around the property. ‘I rather think the high asking price is putting people off. The gentleman who owns it is in no hurry to sell, so he’s unlikely to drop the price. He’s gone to live in Italy, and is happy to rent out, if he can’t sell it.’
‘Well, let’s hope we’ll be in a position to make an offer.’
Meg drove into Alderworth and went for a walk around. She knew she was counting her chickens somewhat, but she couldn’t help indulging in a little hopeful speculation. She had fallen in love with Hazelhurst, and she could happily envisage herself living there. Over lunch of soup and a roll in the Alderworth Arms, she studied the map she had brought with her and saw that they were close to the Surrey border. It dawned on Meg, whose grasp of geography and distances had never been very good, that Woodbourne House was only fifteen or so miles away. Delighted at this discovery, she decided to drive over and pay Sonia a visit.
*
Meg found Sonia in her sitting room, answering correspondence.
‘My dear, what a lovely surprise!’ She rose from her desk and came to embrace Meg. Two slumbering pekes scrambled from their places on the hearthrug to join her.
Meg crouched down to pet them. ‘Where’s Monty?’ she asked.
‘Oh, he died, poor thing. Now I have just Domino and Rufus.’
Meg straightened up. ‘I hope you don’t mind my dropping in unexpectedly. The fact is, I drove down this morning to look at a house Paul and I are thinking of buying, just a few miles away, and it seemed silly not to call on you.’
‘I am always delighted to see you. And how wonderful to think of you and Paul coming to live nearby! I must hear all about the house. We can have a nice long talk over tea.’ She glanced at her wristwatch. ‘That won’t be for another hour or so.’
‘I can see you have letters to finish, so I’ll leave you in peace till then. I’ll go and hunt down Mrs Goodall and catch up on the local gossip.’
She found Mrs Goodall in the kitchen with items of household silver arrayed on sheets of newspaper on the table, polishing a candlestick with a rag.