The main entrance to Claridges appeared whilst they were still deep in contemplation of their changed future.
Tom stopped in his tracks.
‘How are we going to do this? I can’t just walk in with you when you get your key. They’ll throw me out and you as well, if you’re not careful. Your parents would be shocked.’
Fay shook her head. ‘Leave it to me. We’re going in for a drink first. Let me take the lead – but look a little more cheerful would you?’ She giggled, ‘After all, you are with me.’
They started in.
Just level with the commissionaires, one of whom opened the door, she paused and said loudly, ‘Really, you might be a bloody lord – but if you keep on like that you can get another room – husband or not.’
He felt the blood rushing into his face.
The door shut behind them. One commissionaire rolled his eyes.
‘Oops,’ he said to his mate quietly, ‘Wouldn’t put money on His Lordship getting his end away tonight, would you?’
They went to the bar, ordered a dry martini for Fay and a double gin and tonic for Tom, he’d asked her for something refreshing and good for his nerves after her little ‘joke’.
He lifted his glass to hers and they clinked them together, eyes meeting over the rims.
‘To us.’
‘To us,’ she responded.
Two more and an hour later he looked happily around. ‘What happens now?’
She set her empty glass down and twirled the olive on a stick.
‘You go up the staircase to the third floor, wait, then come down to the second. Take your time. When I get the key I’ll go straight up – room 203 – and leave the door open.’
He’d never had a gin and tonic before, let alone three doubles but now he was glad of its fizzy stimulating effect. As he finished off the last one, he experienced a pleasant indifference to reality and the sense of loosening inhibitions glowed warmly in him.
She pulled the olive off the stick with her teeth and ate it. ‘Right, I’m ready. Off you go.’
Tom smiled at her. ‘Very well. I shall do as you say.’
He tried to be more serious but everything seemed altogether lighter. ‘You sure you don’t mind, my occupying your sofa?’
Fay gave him a warning look. ‘No, now off you go, Tom, the staircase is over there.’
He hauled himself out of the leather chair and then picked up his raincoat. ‘Goodnight then, Fay – sweet dreams.’
With that he gave a huge grin, winked and sauntered away.
Anxiously Fay looked at his retreating back. She hadn’t realized that he was so unused to drinking. All the other young men she knew, especially Jeremy, could drink like fish – not always holding it mind you, but the amount Tom had had would have been nothing to them. She felt a frisson of excitement at the sight of his broad back and the thought that they would be so close that night.
Wasting no time she got her key from the desk.
‘Goodnight, Miss Rossiter.’
Feeling guilty, she smiled fleetingly and headed for the metal gated lifts and their attendants.
When she stepped out on her floor it was to find Tom nonchalantly leaning against the wall waiting for her. Fortunately there was nobody around. Horrified, she rushed to her door.
‘For god’s sake, Tom.’
Her hand was shaking so much she dropped the key. He stooped down and picked it up, holding it like a trophy before opening the door for her all in one smooth movement. He stood back and held out his arm.
‘After you, madam.’
Shaking her head she quickly walked in, pulling him roughly after her, closing the door and leaning back against it.
‘Phew. Remind me never to let you have strong drink again, Tom Roxham.’
He grinned down at her. ‘You really are beautiful my little wife-to-be.’
She prodded him with her finger, forcing him back until he fell over on to the sofa.
‘You – stay there while I use the bathroom – then you can have the run of out here.’
He sat looking up at her, like a contrite schoolboy. She so desperately wanted to ruffle his hair, sit with him, kiss him, but the intimacy of being in the room together was overwhelming. She was afraid of what might happen, afraid of her own reaction. What they were already doing felt wicked enough.
When she came out of the bathroom he’d taken his jacket off. Those shoulders looked even more powerful, highlighted by his braces.
Feeling awkward she shuffled forward. ‘It’s all yours. Good night then, Tom.’
He sheepishly mumbled, ‘Sorry if I was a bit reckless. Don’t know what came over me.’
Suddenly Fay reached up and kissed him lightly on the lips. It felt like a hugely daring thing to be doing in those surroundings.
She stepped back. ‘Sleep tight.’
With that she made for her room.
He called after her. ‘Fay, you did say you were going to marry me didn’t you – it wasn’t a dream?’
She paused with her bedroom door open. ‘It was no dream. You proposed, I accepted.’
Tom smiled, that warm crinkling of skin around the eyes that she so loved. ‘That’s good.’
She nodded, slowly closed the door and leant back against it, her heart thumping.
Later, as she undressed, she was conscious that on the other side of the door was a man she physically desired – and who desired her. Tom only had to open that door, and she would be at his mercy.
And the most alarming thing was, she was half hoping he would.
Quickly she lifted her arms and let her silk nightdress drop over her naked body before scambling hurriedly into the bed. She turned out the light and pulled the sheet up to her chin. In the darkness she focused on the door handle that glinted in the light that came through a chink in the curtains.
If it turned she didn’t know what she would do, how she would react, so muddled were her feelings. But one thing was certain, she would be disappointed in him. She loved him for the complete feeling of security, trust and respect that she felt held in when in his presence. But there was a rashness in her body, as well as her mind.
After half an hour of staring at the handle, the light under the edge of the door went out. He must be about to go to sleep.
She waited another ten minutes, but there was no creak of floorboards, no tapping on her door, no muffled calling of her name. She had been right in her trust of him.
Fay turned over, the silk of her nightdress pulled at her hip and in a flash the genie of her physical madness was released. She was out of the bed and opening the door before she knew what she was doing. His startled figure started to rear up but she pushed him back, cupping his face with both hands. The kiss was fierce, lip bruising. When she broke away she grabbed his hand forcing it under the top of her nightdress, taking it to her breast that was hanging down as she leant over him. It was like an electric shock when his calloused hand made contact. She guided his fingers to her nipple which was so hard it was hurting.
For a few seconds she let his hand, skin rough against her softness, caress the throbbing tip, her breathing more and more laboured.
Through the silk material of her nightdress she was suddenly aware of the effect she was having on him and, scared and excited all at the same time, she pulled his hand free, kissed him again – on the forehead, and fled back to her room. Over her shoulder she called, ‘Tom, I love you.’
She closed the door, got into bed and pulled the sheets quickly up over her head.
She lay there trembling until, eventually, exhausted, she went to sleep.
Tom was on his back looking up in the dark at the unseen ceiling, waiting until his blood cooled, not daring to move.
She came to very slowly, eyeing the room without any real sense of change. It was only when she moved, and found her legs entwined in a knot of sheets and blankets that she realized that something was wrong.
Her lips were dry. When she ran her tongue ov
er them they were tender and slightly swollen.
Sitting upright one of her breasts felt sore.
And then it all came back, and with it a tremendous feeling of humiliation. What had he thought of her? She’d behaved like an alley cat.
Fay got out of bed and pulled on her dressing-gown, tempted to dress immediately.
Timidly she turned the handle and eased the door open, peering round to see him.
The sofa was empty. She crept into the room, one hand holding the top of her robe tightly around her neck.
‘Tom?’
There was no reply. She advanced further into the room. It was empty, and the bathroom door was open.
He’d gone.
Devastated she cried, ‘Tom’ again, in despair. He’d left her. He must have been disgusted at her behaviour. She slumped down on the empty sofa and felt the tears welling up in her eyes.
What had she done? She just sat there, devastated.
A tap came on the door, and a maid’s voice called, ‘Room Service.’
Fay stumbled to the door and opened it to find a maid holding a silver tray with teapot, cup and rack of toast. But she only had eyes for the rose lying across the middle. The girl came in and set the tray down on the table. ‘Sir Tom says he is waiting for you in the breakfast-room, but that there is no need to hurry, he has coffee and the morning papers.’
Fay’s jaw dropped.
‘Will there be anything else, madam?’
‘No. No thank you.’
The girl turned to go.
‘Oh – yes, there is.’
The girl paused, waited expectantly.
‘Could you take a message to Sir Tom, say I’ll be as quick as I can but, I haven’t had my bath yet … oh, and thank him for being here for breakfast – tell him I thought….’
‘Yes, madam?’
‘Nothing – just that.’
Fay sang in her bath, sang as she dressed, sang as she applied a little make-up and lipstick. Satisfied she skipped down the staircase and headed for the breakfast-room.
He was sitting at a window table for two, paper propped against his coffee pot, one elbow on the crisp white table cloth, reading intently. As she approached he looked up, grinned, and stood up. With outstretched hands he took both of hers and kissed her on her cheek.
‘Good morning, Fay.’
Beaming she raised an eyebrow. ‘Good Morning, Sir Tom, you do rise early don’t you?’
‘Working people usually do.’
He held her chair whilst she sat down and couldn’t resist another kiss into her sweet smelling hair.
She whispered to him. ‘I thought I’d upset you when I couldn’t find you. I don’t know what came over me, last night.’
He leant forward, just inches from her face. ‘You certainly did upset me, Fay.’ When he saw her look of horror, he chuckled. ‘If you’d stayed a second or two longer we would have had to get married this morning.’
She knew she was blushing, but grinned with relief. ‘You’re looking smart.’
‘Thank you, I borrowed a shaver from the porters.’ He grinned. ‘If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.’
Fay shook her head in disbelief and indicated the hotel with a wave of her hand. ‘You don’t care any more about all this, do you?’
‘Nope.’ He became serious. ‘Fay, how do you feel this morning – about us I mean?’
She anxiously searched his face. ‘Are you changing your mind?’
Tom smiled weakly. ‘No – you know I’m not. It’s just—’
He hung his head, ‘You haven’t got a ring and I can’t afford one.’
‘Is that all?’
‘Well, that’s pretty basic. If we’re engaged you should have a ring.’
It dawned on her then how upset he was. ‘Listen, Tom, I love you, you love me, we’ve decided we’re going to get married. That’s what being engaged means. The bloody ring can wait.’
The blasphemy coming from her sweet lips was a powerful jolt to his senses.
‘Fay – I will get you one. I swear.’
Matter-of-factly – she nodded. ‘I know and I will be proud to wear it.’
To their relief Fay was not required again that morning.
They went to the Tower, then the Bridge, standing in the middle looking at the Pool of London. It was crowded with merchant ships from all over the world. Lighters and barges lay alongside each other and derricks and cranes rose and fell on the wharves. They looked like giant birds feeding their young as they laboured to load and unload the goods going out to, or coming in from the Empire, on which the sun never set.
The breeze played with her hair. Several times she had to lift a strand from her eye.
‘Tom, are you coming back on the same train as me?’
He was leaning on the parapet beside her. ‘I thought you might not like that….’
‘Why not?’
He half turned, resting on one arm. ‘It’s a small world. You risk being seen with me. Tongues would wag. Are you ready for that?’
She pulled her coat lapels tighter around her against the cold breeze and slipped her arm into his, guiding him back towards the Tower.
‘I suppose not.’
She immediately stopped walking.
‘Sorry – that sounded awful. It’s nothing to do with you, it’s just that if there were any hint of impropriety it would be such a shock. Even if it were Jeremy.’
She knew that wasn’t entirely true – her father would probably react to that news by getting out a bottle of the Pol Roger and his shotgun. But Jeremy would redeem himself; asking for her hand – in the old world style. Her parents, too, still had the manners of an earlier time; after all, they’d both been born in the nineteenth century.
She searched his face, but he didn’t seem to have taken offence.
Fay resumed walking. ‘Darling, we’ve all the time in the world. When we’re ready we’ll tell them together – and you can ask Father formally if you like.’
She giggled.
‘After all, he’s got to give me away. I become your chattel then, don’t I?’
‘Sure do.’
She hit him on the arm.
Tom knew he’d changed. It was like a miracle, but now he had all the self-possession and confidence that had been sadly lacking before. It was her, he instinctively knew that. With Fay he had left the boy in him behind.
As a man he was calm, almost detached. Things would happen – and that was that – or he’d know why.
‘I’ll come back home with you now if you want. Or I’ll wait, since I’m not a good financial catch. But I’ll make you happy, one way or another.’
He took her firmly by both shoulders. ‘And if you ever do what you did last night again – you’ll have to accept the consequences – and they won’t be pretty.’
In the startled silence before they both started laughing, a great klaxon sounded from the direction of the docks.
They boarded the early evening express to Gloucester that stopped at Kemble. While she settled into their first-class carriage, he popped along to the front to see what was hauling them, realizing as he did so that small bits of boyhood remained. It was a Hall class. He chatted for a moment to the driver. Exactly on time they eased out from under the great canopy, and slid at a steadily increasing rate through the western suburbs of London, gliding smoothly through commuter stations, occasionally lurching over points, signal gantries whispering by.
With a bang of compressed air and the hiss of steam, a train in the opposite direction was gone in seconds.
They held hands. There was nothing else to say. Just before Kemble, he lowered the blinds on the windows to the corridor and they sat kissing and just holding on to each other.
When the train began to pass down the length of the platform, he stood up and got down her case.
‘Are you being met here?’
‘No, I’m getting the connection to town. I’m being picked up from there. And you?’
&nb
sp; He shrugged. ‘Something will be going to Cheltenham.’
As they ground to a halt he swung her case on to the platform where a porter stood with his barrow.
‘This lady is for the Cirencester connection.’
‘Very good, sir. It’s just across there, madam.’
He pointed to the branch line platform and pushed his barrow in that direction.
Tom faced her. ‘We’ve left it a bit late, but when shall I see you again?’
‘I’m free Saturday evening, but Sunday’s out – it’s always church and family.’
He groaned. ‘I’m playing in a band on Saturday night. I need the extra money for the lessons, but I could cancel, though it would leave them in the lurch.’
She wouldn’t hear of it. ‘I’m free on the Monday all day. Is that any good?’
Tom desperately tried to think.
‘I’m due a day in lieu of Christmas working, but whether I can have it then….’
The guard’s whistle blasted. Their time had run out. She gave him a hurried kiss.
‘Telephone me on Friday – at exactly five o’clock. I’ll be by the phone. Daddy won’t be back from The House till later.’
A porter came along slamming doors and reached theirs. ‘Sorry, sir.’
He jumped on, pulling at the leather strap to drop the window as he shut the door and leaned out.
‘Do I know your number?’
She came nearer. ‘Cirencester 103 – or ask the operator for Codrington Hall, it’s on the letter I sent if you’ve still got it?’
The whistle blasted again and with a jerk they began to move. He patted his wallet pocket and called out, ‘I’ve got it next to my heart.’
She stood on the platform waving and blowing kisses as he leaned out of the window doing the same. Slowly they pulled out until the tiny figure on the platform was lost in a cloud of steam.
When it dispersed they had gone around a curve and the station was no longer in view.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
His parents noticed a difference in their son almost straightaway. When he went to work on Wednesday, his mother turned to his father.
Enduring Passions Page 12