by Jess Foley
Among the bustling crowds, they walked together around the brightly decorated stores where Abbie did some Christmas shopping, buying little gifts for Arthur and Jane, and for Eddie, Violet and the baby. The excursion was a revelation; she had never before seen such vast shops or such an abundance of luxurious goods on display. Apart from the Christmas gifts, she bought a new dress, which although fairly modest by the current vogue, was more fashionable than anything she was likely to see around Flaxdown. Made in pale-blue and white striped satin and trimmed with silk bows, its sheath-like form fell at the back like a cascade into an elegant train. Looking at her reflection in the glass in the dress shop, Abbie thought she had never before looked so grand. The cost of the gown made a considerable hole in her savings, but she did not care.
At a little after one o’clock the two stopped at a small restaurant just off Regent Street and ate a simple lunch. Abbie enjoyed the company of her companion. Mrs Appleton, tall, straight and grey-haired, was a warm, considerate woman with a wry sense of humour. Widowed now for a number of years, she was the mother of four sons and a daughter, the latter living with her husband in Shepherd’s Bush and expecting any day the birth of her first child.
By the time Abbie and Mrs Appleton returned to Nelson Gardens, Abbie felt tired, but nevertheless very satisfied with the day.
That evening she and Arthur were going to a concert. He had managed to get tickets for the Royal Albert Hall, a vast concert hall that had been opened the year before. When they were due to leave in the hired cab she came downstairs wearing the dress she had bought that morning. She saw at once by Arthur’s reaction that she had chosen well.
It was an unforgettable evening. She had never heard an orchestra in her life before, and it was a revelation now not only to hear the sounds of Mozart and Haydn, but also to watch the large body of men playing their instruments so expertly. It was a magical experience. Afterwards she and Arthur went to a restaurant for supper, following which they took a cab back to Nelson Gardens.
The next day was Christmas Eve. Abbie spent the morning alone and after lunch prepared herself for Jane’s visit. Jane arrived at the house just after three o’clock and over tea they talked with the excitement of seeing one another again while they caught up on the events of the past few months.
Dinner that evening was a very pleasant affair. It was the first time Jane and Arthur had met since the day of the Warminster market when they had all three driven back to Flaxdown in his carriage through the rain. Jane was at first rather subdued in his presence, but after a while she began to relax. At the close of the evening – Arthur sending her on her way back to Fulham in a cab – it was arranged that she would visit them the following day, Christmas Day, to join them for dinner.
After breakfast next morning Abbie and Arthur exchanged gifts. She had bought him tobacco, toilet water, macassar hair oil and some handkerchiefs. In return he gave her perfume, toilet water, a beautiful parasol and a pair of gloves of the softest kid. Jane arrived later, and after an excellent Christmas dinner the three sat in the drawing room and played cards.
Jane had been given permission to stay over that night and it was decided that she would share Abbie’s bed.
‘Do you suppose’, Jane whispered into the dark as they lay there side by side, ‘that certain people are meant for each other?’
‘Oh – I wouldn’t think so. I think a person’s either lucky or unlucky – in finding the right one.’
‘Yes,’ Jane said, ‘I think so too. And you’re very lucky, you know that? Your Arthur’s handsome, intelligent – and has a good position. You’ll never want for anything.’ She smiled. ‘It hasn’t happened at all the way we thought it would, has it? Here you are, looking forward to your wedding, when you always vowed you’d never marry. And here am I without anyone. Ironic, isn’t it?’
‘It will happen to you too. And probably when you least expect it.’
‘Perhaps.’
Late the next morning Jane said her goodbyes and set off back to Fulham and her duties. She and Abbie would meet again in the spring, they said, when Abbie had come to London to live.
That evening Abbie and Arthur dined alone and afterwards relaxed in the drawing room beside the fire. The following evening they went to the opera, to see a production of Verdi’s Luisa Miller. As with the concert, it was for Abbie a most wonderful experience. Not only was she deeply moved by the tragic love story, but she was overwhelmed by the colourful spectacle, and the beauty of the music and the singing. Afterwards they had supper at a restaurant near the theatre, following which they took a cab back to the house.
The following day was Abbie’s last before returning to Flaxdown. During the afternoon she and Arthur went to visit the National Gallery, where they looked at some of the paintings. Arthur showed a surprising knowledge of the works on view, pointing out to her characteristics of the various artists’ methods, and relating interesting anecdotes. Even without his accompanying comments, she would have been almost overwhelmed by the sights. Passing from one vast room to another – rooms that seemed to go on and on – she was astonished at the number of masterpieces on display. Let alone seeing so many, she had never conceived of such numbers being housed in one building. And the size of some of them. Several were so incredibly vast; no wall in her little Flaxdown schoolhouse could have accommodated as much as one quarter of their dimensions.
Later, she and Arthur went to a restaurant where they lingered over dinner. Then, back at the house he bade her goodnight on the stairs with a chaste kiss, though she could see in his eyes the longing for more.
Next morning she said her goodbyes to Mrs Appleton and Ida, and left with Arthur for Paddington, where she was to catch the 10.20 for Trowbridge.
The train was already standing at the platform when they got to the station. Arthur saw Abbie’s box safely on board, then escorted her into a carriage where he sat beside her. For the moment they were alone in the compartment. From somewhere off in the distance a clock chimed the hour of ten. Putting his arm around her waist, he said, ‘I don’t want you to go.’
‘I don’t want to go either.’
After a little silence he whispered, ‘I so wanted you last night. And had there been an opportunity I think I’d have thrown away my promise to your brother.’
At his words her feelings brought again that now-familiar warmth to her heart, a warmth to add to the thrills and the excitement of her short visit to the capital. Yet she did not know how to respond to his words, and she merely took refuge in banalities. Self-consciously she said, ‘I’m afraid Flaxdown’s going to seem very quiet after London.’
‘Yes,’ he said with a smile, aware of her feeling of awkwardness, ‘I’m sure it will.’
‘Oh, indeed, and I’ll have so much to tell Eddie and Violet – and my pupils, too, when the new term starts.’
‘Have you written your letter of resignation yet?’
‘I’ll do it in the next few days. There’s time – so long as I hand it in at the beginning of the term.’
A little silence fell between them in the midst of the cacophony of the station’s sounds: the shouts, the guards’ whistles, the hoot of an approaching train.
‘I’ll miss you, Abbie.’ Arthur drew her closer. ‘Perhaps I shan’t let you go. Still – it won’t be long till you’re here again – and next time for good.’
‘Yes – for good.’
He bent closer and kissed her, and against the slightly stale odour of the compartment was the now-familiar pleasant smell of him: a faint trace of the tobacco he sometimes smoked, his cologne, the oil that he had used on his hair that day. Seeing his smile, she felt a rush of tenderness towards him. He moved to kiss her again, but at that moment an elderly couple appeared at the carriage door. Then, as the newcomers settled in their seats, there came the sound of the guard’s voice, warning that the train was about to start.
‘I must go.’ Arthur gave Abbie a kiss on the check – rather chaste in deference to the othe
r passengers – opened the carriage door and stepped out onto the platform. Abbie got up, leaned from the window and took the hand he held out to her. ‘I shall go home and write to you straightaway,’ he said. ‘And I’ll come to Flaxdown to see you as soon as I can.’
The final whistle blew and as the train began to move their joined hands parted. Abbie waved from the carriage window until, a few moments later, he was no longer in sight.
Reading . . . Oxford . . . Abbie mentally marked off the stations as the train moved on westwards. As they left Didcot she ate the sandwiches Mrs Appleton had prepared for her. Swindon . . . Caine . . . The journey seemed to be taking for ever and she was eager now to get home again. Chippenham . . . Melksham . . . and then, finally, the last stop on the line, Trowbridge.
Here she got out and a kindly porter placed her box beside her on the platform. Her connection for Frome was not due for another hour and a half. She refreshed herself in the ladies’ room then drank a welcome cup of tea and settled herself to wait. At last her train drew in. As there was no porter in sight she herself bent to try to pick up her heavy box and move it across the platform. As she did so, however, a man appeared at her side saying, ‘Are you getting on the train? – then please, allow me.’
Even as he took her box from her and she thanked him, a part of her mind acknowledged a recognition of his voice. But she was climbing into the carriage now and he was behind her.
Aware of him closely following, she turned to see him bending as he set her box down and pushed it under the seat. The next moment he was straightening before her and raising his hat. She opened her mouth to thank him again, then found her words dying unspoken on her lips.
‘Yes, we’ve met before, haven’t we?’ he said.
His smile was warm, open and full of surprised pleasure. He was tall, in his late twenties, smartly dressed, with wide shoulders and a broad, handsome face. He had dark-brown hair and blue-grey eyes. Facing him, she at once saw him again as she had seen him that day over four years earlier – standing in the colourful bustle of the fairground, turning to smile at her just before bending his head over the rifle as he aimed at the target to win for Beatie her teaset. And for a brief moment she seemed to know again the sights, the scents, the sounds from that time – the bustle of the animated people, the smell of the food being eaten and the grass crushed beneath their feet; the sounds of laughing, happy voices and the music . . .
‘Hello, Louis,’ she said.
His smile was still there. She had forgotten just how white were his teeth.
‘Hello, Abigail.’
A little moment of silence. They both stood there in the carriage, awkward. Abbie did not know what to say. He was the last person she had expected to see; indeed, she had not expected to see him again in her life.
Suddenly he had put out a hand and was taking hers. His hand seemed so large, so strong, her own so small within his firm but gentle grasp.
As she looked down at their hands clasped together in a formal handshake, she heard him say, ‘It’s been such a long time, Abbie,’ and then, ‘Oh, but it’s so good to see you again.’
‘Yes. Yes.’
Her hand felt so warm within his grasp and she felt so conscious of his touch. Quickly withdrawing her hand she gave a self-conscious smile and sat down on the seat. As she smoothed her skirt she was aware of him sitting down facing her on the opposite seat.
As he unbuttoned his coat and set down his hat beside him he said again, ‘It’s been such a long time,’ then added, ‘Who ever would have thought that we’d meet again like this.’
‘Yes.’ She gave a little nod, her voice only just there. She became aware of a slight pounding in her chest. This nervousness – if that is what it is – is nonsensical, she told herself. Why should their meeting again affect her so?
‘Let me see,’ he was saying, ‘– it’s five years come next summer.’
‘You wrote to me,’ she said, ‘and I didn’t answer your letters. I’m sorry. You must have thought me very rude.’
‘It’s all right.’ He brushed aside her apology with a little wave of his hand, then said gravely, ‘Your sister – I learned some time later that she – she died. I was so sorry to hear that. She seemed such a lovely young woman.’
Abbie nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘I’m really so sorry.’
‘Yes,’ she said again. She didn’t want to talk about Beatie. Changing the subject: ‘What are you doing in these parts? I thought you were situated in London.’
‘I’m bound for Frome.’ He smiled. ‘I’m living there now. I’ve been there for a couple of months.’
‘Frome,’ she said. ‘Well – Frome is a very pleasant place.’ With a little chuckle, born purely of discomfiture, she added, ‘So we are almost neighbours.’ She found herself dismayed by the banality of her words as she took refuge in small talk. But she could not relax with him – it was as simple as that. How, a fleeting thought went through her brain, could she allow him to have this rather disconcerting effect upon her? Was he aware of it? And was it something he set out to do? Where, she asked herself, was that pleasant and safe-feeling calm she knew in Arthur’s company?
‘Your medical studies must be long finished,’ she said, aiming to get onto safe ground.
‘Oh, yes, indeed.’
He then went on to say that he had spent some time in Bristol, working at a hospital, but had left to take up a share in a practice in Frome, where one of the general practitioners in a partnership had recently retired. He enjoyed his work, he told her. At that moment, he added, he was returning from a visit to his father in Gravesend.
When he asked Abbie about herself she told him that she was teaching at the village school in Flaxdown.
‘So it happened after all,’ he said. ‘You did become a teacher. When we talked about it you thought it was not going to happen. Well done.’
‘Thank you.’ She was surprised that he remembered their conversation.
‘Are you liking it, your work?’ he asked.
‘Yes, very much – when I’m allowed to get on with it.’
‘But what are you doing here, on the train?’
‘I’m returning from London.’
‘You’ve been to London?’
‘Yes.’ Now there was a note of pride in her voice. ‘I went there to spend the Christmas period.’ She paused, then, looking away, unable to meet his eyes, added, ‘With my fiancé.’
‘Oh, Abbie – you’re engaged to be married.’
‘Yes.’ Unable to read his tone, she looked back at him. He was smiling at her.
‘So you’re to be married,’ he said. ‘Oh – I’m so happy for you. Congratulations. When is your marriage to take place?’
‘In the spring. At Easter.’
‘Well – that will soon be here. Then you’ll be a married woman. Would I know the gentleman?’
‘I hardly think so. His name is Arthur Gilmore.’
‘No, I don’t know him – though I’m certain he’s a lucky man.’
‘What about you?’ she asked. ‘Are you married?’
‘Me? No, I’m afraid not.’ He smiled. ‘Obviously I haven’t been as fortunate as you.’
Darkness had fallen by the time they reached Frome, and to Abbie’s disappointment there was no cab to be had when they emerged from the station. ‘Well, I’ll just have to wait,’ she said, her breath vapouring in the cold air. She felt dirty and tired. She had set out from Arthur’s house just after nine o’clock that morning and it was now after four.
‘You can’t wait around here in the dark in this cold weather,’ Louis said. ‘Come on.’ He took up her box. ‘I live close by. I’ll drive you home.’
She protested for a moment, but he would hear of no other course and together they set off along the street.
He lived only five or six minutes’ walk from the station, in a large grey-stone house set back from the road, and from the little Abbie could see in the gloom, surrounded by a fairly spacious g
arden. Louis invited her to take some tea before starting off for Flaxdown, but she declined, saying that if it was all the same to him she would prefer to get on home. He agreed at once and, after putting his bag in the house and collecting a lamp, he led the way to the small stable and coach house at the end of the drive. She stood watching as he hitched up the mare and then, shortly afterwards, muffled up against the cold wind, she was sitting beside him as they set off.
At last they drew into Flaxdown and he brought the carriage to a halt at the schoolhouse, helped Abbie down, picked up her box and followed her up to the front door. When she had unlocked it he went in after her and set her box down. She thanked him for his kindness and asked whether she could offer him some refreshment before he started home.
‘Another time I’d like to very much,’ he said. ‘But I must get back now. I have a lot to do before I start work in the morning.’
When, after an exchange of handshakes he had left, Abbie hung up her cape and bonnet. It was warm in the cottage; Violet or Eddie had been round and lit the stove. She filled the kettle and put it on to boil. In the larder she found fresh milk, eggs, bread and cheese – again thanks to Eddie or Violet. After preparing a simple meal of bread, cheese and pickles she made a pot of tea and sat down to eat.
As she ate she became aware of a sense of dissatisfaction. She felt strangely low-spirited – yet she could not pin down the cause of such feelings. Once having departed from London, she had been eager to get home again, but now that she was here her eagerness had somehow gone flat. She looked around her. The cottage was so small and humble compared with Arthur’s house in London . . . Yet it was not that, she realized – not disappointment in her present surroundings. What, then? She thought back over her week in the capital. There had been so many things to see and do. And through it all Arthur had been so solicitous of her happiness. It had also been good to see Jane again. She thought of Jane’s words to her when they had been lying in bed in Arthur’s house: ‘You’re very lucky.’ And it was true; she was lucky; in the spring she and Arthur would be married, and from then on she would want for nothing. She had, she told herself, absolutely nothing to be disappointed about.