A Midwinter Promise

by Lulu Taylor

  Chapter Sixteen

  1986

  The arrival of Greta the puppy brought energy and focus to Julia’s days. Now she had a companion to care for and quite a few weeks were spent training her, taking her for walks and being diverted by the puppy’s antics, as well as whisking David’s smart shoes out of the reach of her gnawing teeth and trying to stop the table legs being chewed.

  ‘I love her so much, thank you for getting her,’ she said to David over the breakfast table, as Greta watched them from her bed by the door, head resting on its cushioned side.

  ‘It’s wonderful to see you happy again.’ His eyes twinkled at her over the top of his coffee mug as he took a sip. ‘I’ve been worried about you since we moved house – that you’re lonely.’

  She laughed. ‘I’ve got Sally now, you know that. We meet practically every other day.’

  ‘Yes. She seems nice.’

  ‘Nice? Hmm, I know what that means. You think she’s a bit boring.’ They had gone out with Sally and Bill a couple of times – to the cinema on Kensington High Street, and to the pub on Edwardes Square, where the men talked politely about cricket.

  David shook his head. ‘She’s perfectly pleasant, and so is Bill.’

  ‘Pleasant also means boring.’

  ‘Well . . . all right. Neither of them exactly sets the world alight. You’re not like them, so I suppose I don’t quite understand what you see in her.’

  She smiled at him. ‘Flattery. Well, I like Sally, and I’ve got Greta too, so I’m quite sorted out.’

  ‘Good.’ David put down his empty cup. He was neatly dressed as always in a perfectly pressed, fluff-less dark suit, crisp shirt and neat tie in a Windsor knot. ‘Right. I must get to SJP. I’ve got meetings all morning. No doubt I’ll be crossing the park this afternoon.’ He adopted a martyrish expression and raised his eyebrows.

  ‘More gin and tonic to mix,’ Julia said lightly. It was a joke that all David did was make drinks and carry flowers, but she knew it was more than that. The reality of keeping a senior branch of the royal family working smoothly, with its myriad needs and activities, meant that he was not only extremely busy but also often tense and worried. He wouldn’t have any newspapers in the house first thing in the morning.

  ‘I’ll see them soon enough when I get to the office,’ he would say. ‘And I’d like to enjoy my coffee in peace at least. The phone doesn’t ring here, thank goodness.’

  David kissed her goodbye and went off into the bright morning to walk down to St James’s Palace, and Julia watched him go. She never asked him anything about what went on in his job and he offered very little: just snippets of unremarkable news, such as the fact that he had sat that day in the Buckingham Palace staff canteen with the Captain of the Queen’s Flight, or had discussed pictures with the Keeper of the Royal Collection. Just those few scant details made her aware of the huge operation and the dozens of people who kept the machinery of the monarchy moving smoothly. David was just one more cog in it, and yet his proximity to the most glamorous of all the royal figures gave him a particular importance, at least to Julia’s mind. He didn’t want to see the papers because his boss was most likely to be featured, and most likely to be talked about. It was just a fact that women drew more attention and inspired more debate than men. No one was much interested in suits and ties, a balding head or a military uniform; dresses, shoes, hats and jewels were another matter. Feminine hairstyles, make-up, weight, moodiness, and attributes as a mother were fascinating to the public, it seemed, and the state of relationships within the crystal goldfish bowl of royalty were the most sublimely interesting of all. Julia herself was not immune. If the papers were anything to go by, there was trouble in paradise, and she knew that David must be keenly aware of anything going on behind the elegant windows of Kensington Palace. He knew the truth of all the gossip and speculations. But he never said anything.

  Julia’s interest, perhaps piqued by David’s reserve, in what was going on behind the closed doors began to grow. She took Greta for walks in the park and imagined David in the grand red-brick Queen Anne house at the far end of Hyde Park – she knew he spent a great deal of time travelling between St James’s Palace, where he had his office, and Kensington Palace, where he would be summoned for meetings by his boss, who was reluctant to venture into the heart of operations at SJP, that bastion of the old guard. Julia threw sticks for Greta and imagined David in a cosy, intimate, feminine sitting room, gazing into the famous blue eyes under the sweep of fair hair, and wondered if he would be able to resist that charm, heightened as it was by royal star power.

  His mood – usually one of exhaustion and worry – seemed to indicate he could. But what if his natural chivalry was being roused by working for, protecting and representing a magnetically attractive woman? What if he simply couldn’t help it?

  Then she would tell herself not to be so stupid: how ridiculous was it to be jealous of someone like that? It was pathetic and pointless and she gave herself a mental shake. Stop it, Julia. Just stop it.

  But she walked Greta one day through the park to the outskirts of the palace, and found herself standing at the gate staring down a long driveway to another gate where a security guard waited to vet anyone trying to gain entry to the maze of courtyards, apartments and flats that lay beyond.

  David might be in there.

  She felt a huge longing for him, like a physical pain in her gut, and had the wild impulse to run down the driveway, calling his name. They’ll think I’m mad. They might even shoot me or something. No, she mustn’t do that.

  Then she saw a movement: the navy-blue bonnet of an expensive sports car edged to the security gate, stopped momentarily and then purred down the driveway towards her. Julia watched as it approached. It stopped beside her, engine thrumming, as the driver waited for a gap in the traffic. At the wheel – yes, that’s her – a flash of blonde hair, determined eyes, a delicate yet strong-willed chin. The driver was partially obscured by a protection officer in the passenger seat, who stared out at Julia, baleful and suspicious. A second later, the car edged out onto Kensington High Street, and joined the flow of traffic, and was lost.

  It was the strangest feeling. The other side of David’s life, utterly oblivious to her, had just passed her. She was as closed off from it as any other person wandering through the park that morning, and as firmly shut out. And yet, her husband spent more time in there than he did with her. His duty to all of that, and to the driver of the sports car, seemed greater than his loyalty to her.

  You’re being stupid, she told herself as she walked home, Greta bounding around her. But the mood of deep gloom that had settled on her was hard to shake.

  When David came home and told her the he’d soon be away for the best part of a fortnight for work, Julia nodded and seemed to accept it but within half an hour they were having a terrible row. It started over something tiny, then grew as Julia found more fuel to add to the flames of her indignation until she was in a high state of anger. David, always unflappable, became more distant the more emotional she got. As she worked herself up into a tearful fury, he stared at the floor and went cold, refusing to respond to her, which in turn drove her into greater turmoil. Then at last, she got to the heart of it.

  ‘You don’t care about me! You don’t love me!’ she screamed. ‘Or how could you leave me?’

  He looked at her, his blue eyes cold, his face set. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Julia! It’s my job, you know that. You knew it when we got married.’

  ‘You care about her more than you care about me!’

  His expression went stony. She hated to see it, and she knew it wasn’t true, but she couldn’t help herself. She needed his reassurance so much. The sense of being shut out of his life, an outsider, had stayed with her ever since she’d glimpsed the woman in the car, and had sat in her mind like something noxious.

  David got up. ‘There’s no talking to you when you’re like this. I’m going out.’

  ‘No, don’t go
!’ She followed him down the hallway to the front door. ‘Don’t leave me, David, please!’

  Why couldn’t he understand that leaving her was the worst thing to do? She wanted his strong arms around her, the murmuring of calm words, the insistence that he cared about her.

  ‘I’ll be back later,’ he said, not looking at her. ‘I hope you’ll be a bit more reasonable by then.’ The door slammed shut behind him and she sank to the floor, sobbing.

  He did not come back until much later, when she was in bed staring at the wall in darkness and he smelled of whisky and the smokiness of a pub. He sat down on the bed beside her and reached out to stroke her hair.

  ‘Darling,’ he said, his voice soft and just a touch blurry with drink. ‘I do love you. If you knew how much . . .’

  She said nothing, afraid that if she spoke, she might say the wrong thing. She wasn’t sure if he even knew she was awake.

  ‘You need something else,’ he said. ‘More than Greta. You need a baby.’

  Her blood turned to ice. She closed her eyes and bit her lip.

  No. Not that. Never that.

  David kicked off his shoes and lay down beside her. He gave a great sigh and the next moment was asleep, his breathing loud and slow in the quiet room.

  Julia lay there, paralysed with fear. She’d known this would come, it had to. How on earth would she tell him the truth?

  ‘But you and David seem so happy, such a perfect couple.’ Sally’s gaze was frank and concerned. ‘I always think how absolutely right you are when we see you.’

  They were in an Italian cafe they had found in the mazy streets behind Harrods and which they had made their regular lunch place.

  ‘We are happy.’ Julia gazed at her sandwich: ham and mozzarella with spiky peppery lettuce leaves. ‘Very happy. I’m just alone so much, that’s all.’

  Sally nodded. ‘I know. You do put up with an awful lot. But just think, if he was still in the navy, he’d be gone for much longer, and submarines are a bit more dangerous than palaces.’

  Julia nodded. ‘I feel as though something is always going to take him away from me.’

  ‘But, darling, isn’t that life? Isn’t that what happens?’

  There it is again, like David said. Life is awful. Just accept it. I don’t know if I can.

  Sally brightened and she put her sandwich down, hit by an idea. ‘I know! You should get a job!’

  ‘Me? What am I good for?’ Julia shook her head. ‘I didn’t even finish St Agatha’s. I dropped out of my acting course. I’m completely unqualified for anything.’

  ‘So get a qualification. Go to secretarial college like me, it opens up a lot of avenues.’

  Julia thought for a second and then said, ‘I’m far too stupid and lazy.’

  ‘Then maybe David’s right and you need to have a baby.’

  Julia looked away, staring out of the window to the road beyond, where she watched a street sweeper slowly sweeping up litter and depositing it in his trolley. ‘No,’ she said at last. ‘Not yet. I’m not ready.’

  ‘Well, you are still very young. But honestly, Julia, you’re bored, can’t you see that? You need to do something. I’m worried about you. Why don’t you and David meet Bill and me for dinner or something?’

  ‘David’s going away,’ Julia reminded her.

  ‘When he’s back. Oh goodness, look at the time, I must get back to the office.’ Sally gestured for the bill. ‘Let’s do something nice together at the weekend. You shouldn’t be alone so much. It’s not good for you.’

  Sally was kind, Julia thought as she walked back to the house, Greta gambolling beside her. She’s a good friend to me. It’s odd because we never really spoke at school.

  Julia had been loud, well liked, though sometimes in trouble, and often the centre of attention. People seemed to be drawn to her and her vivacity, her jokes and her sense of fun. Sally had been a subtle character, quieter, more observant. It was odd because she often started off on the margins, but then, slowly but surely, made her way into the heart of things so that she was always in on the action if not one of the main players. She had been the kind of girl who made her mark later in her school career, who came from nowhere to be head girl or captain of something, or won the biggest prize on Speech Day, and surprised everyone.

  She felt envious of Sally in a way she never had when they were schoolgirls. Sally had finished school, got her qualifications, bagged an interesting job. She might pretend not to be ambitious, but Julia suspected a steely spine and an iron will behind the round blue-green eyes and the gentle smile. I’m sure she knows how to get what she wants.

  But she felt safe with Sally. Yes, safe. She doesn’t pry about David’s job. She doesn’t try and get me to tell her what I don’t want to. She’s kind. And I like Bill.

  Bill was a sensible man, without any of David’s dark glamour. He would be a reliable, steady sort of husband. No nasty surprises there.

  Julia felt a longing to be satisfied with less, the way everyone else seemed to be. She wanted so badly to be like Sally and Bill. No doubt they would get married, have a family, and be resolutely, comfortably ordinary. She suspected Sally was the kind of woman who would make it her life’s mission to look after her man and not make demands.

  Why can’t I be like that? Why?

  The letter from Quentin was completely unexpected.

  Dear Julia,

  I wonder if you would meet me for lunch? I want to talk to you. I’m coming down from Cambridge in a fortnight for a conference and I’d be much obliged. If possible, shall we say the 28th at 12.30 p.m. in the Oxford and Cambridge Club?

  Affectionately,

  Quentin

  She stared at it, surprised. Quentin had never been in touch with her before, not even so much as a birthday card. When she thought about him, it was to imagine him ensconced in her father’s favourite armchair in front of the fire at Tawray, sitting there as the lord of the manor, delighted at how it had all turned out. But the reality was that he was in Cambridge, pursuing his academic career. She’d even seen his name in the paper, when he was appointed as a fellow at Trinity.

  Wondering what on earth he might have to say to her, she wrote to accept the invitation and went along a fortnight later, walking down St James’s, eyeing the palace as she passed it with something like suspicion, and making her way up the stone steps to the club entrance. Quentin was waiting for her in the lobby, inspecting notices pinned to the green baize board, a tall and gangly figure in a baggy tweed suit.

  ‘Ah, hello,’ he said awkwardly once he’d spotted her, and kissed her cheek with over-pursed lips. ‘So glad you could come. Let’s go straight to the Coffee Room, shall we?’

  She accompanied him along the short walk to the Coffee Room, which was actually the club’s restaurant, a grand room with red silk walls and huge portraits of kings and queens gazing down upon the diners. They were seated by the tall windows overlooking Pall Mall, and Quentin was given the menu with the prices, while Julia was handed one without.

  ‘Have whatever you like,’ Quentin said beneficently. ‘The pigeon is very good.’

  Julia made her choice and Quentin filled in the little order slip which he gave to the waiter, who brought over water and a carafe of ruby-red wine. She asked polite questions and he talked about life in college and his research into Scottish medieval history, but they both knew they were skirting something. When finally, over their half-finished lunches, he asked her how married life was, she said, ‘That’s all fine. But what’s this about, Quentin? Is it Tawray?’

  He coughed a little awkwardly and blinked behind his tortoiseshell-rimmed glasses. ‘Well . . . yes, as it happens. It is.’

  ‘What about it? Is everything all right?’ Cold fear pierced her at the idea that something might be wrong with the old place. Already she was fretting that Quentin would tell her it was to be sold, but she was sure that wasn’t possible without her and Lala’s permission.

  ‘Yes, yes. Listen, Julia, I ne
ed your help. I don’t want Tawray, I never did. My mother was intent on my having it. I don’t know why, as I never showed the slightest interest in it. My bent is for study, and the university, and I want to make my life and career there. I thought it would make no difference to have the house and that I might even like it. I thought Violet might enjoy it but she loathes it. And it needs proper care, it turns out. There’s always so much to be done.’

  ‘So what are you suggesting?’

  ‘Something very straightforward. I’ll make my part over to you and Lala. The trust can pay me something for it one of these days. But I’ll surrender all my interest and it can be yours. What do you think?’

  ‘I . . . Yes, I . . .’ She struggled to find the words. She had not expected this: that Tawray might return to her, and she to it. Happiness rushed up through her, like a geyser bursting up from the ground.

  ‘You’ll need to talk to your husband first, of course. Get his advice.’

  ‘Oh no. I know what I want. I want the house. I can’t think of anything nicer.’ I’ve been sick, she thought, because I miss home so much. Once I’m back in Tawray, it will all be better. Everything will be all right. She beamed at him. ‘Oh Quentin, thank you. I mean it. Thank you.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’ He smiled. ‘I’m glad you’re happy. My mother won’t be, but there we are!’

  ‘She doesn’t like me.’

  ‘Perhaps not. I don’t know why. Perhaps it was because she thought your poor mother was not up to the task of looking after the house. It always meant more to her than to me. I shall get in touch with the trustees and we can set the whole thing in motion as soon as possible.’

  ‘Of course I’m happy,’ David said slowly, when she told him in great excitement that evening about what had happened. ‘And I can see you are. But be realistic, Julia – what are we going to do with that house?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ She stared at him, her smile fading.

  ‘How on earth can it fit in with our lives now? I have to be here, you know that. My work is here. Cornwall is not easy to get to from London. How on earth will we manage?’