‘Nevertheless, you’ll almost certainly be confronted by the disease.’
‘I could pass someone on a London street with it. Let’s be honest, we are both running the risk of exposure to contact with TB patients most weeks, surely? And no, I can’t avoid it entirely in India and if they need my skills, I’ll give them . . . gladly.’
‘Yes, but we’re better equipped here in England.’
‘As I intend to make sure we are over there. I have a responsibility to help. We can’t just invade someone’s country and not give anything back for all that we’ve taken and enjoyed for a century; my mother would understand. Besides, healing and caring for the sick – that’s what you and Mama are all about. I spent an entire childhood roaming around your laboratories or kicking my heels in hospital corridors waiting for you to finish with this patient or that, with this test tube or that analysis. How can you not take some of the blame for why we find ourselves having this conversation?’
I didn’t enjoy making my father squirm and he looked uncomfortable sipping his aperitif, his mouth twisting in exasperation as if the sherry were bitter, while fighting words that wanted to fly out and exclaim, ‘Oh, but it was different for us.’ Papa knew better, though, and kept his counsel, so I pushed a little harder.
‘As clinicians you took an oath, the same one I did. But I don’t want to leave without your blessing.’
‘And Jove is going along with this?’ he murmured in fresh dismay.
I nodded firmly. ‘We’ve made a pact. Until next September is the time I have to get myself posted, travel to Calcutta, do my work and be home in time to plan our winter wedding. I’ll be back before you can even miss me.’
‘That’s not true,’ he assured. ‘I shall mark off each day on a calendar until your November wedding.’ I smiled. ‘Is it enough time, darling? What about your gown, the reception, the —’
‘Let Jove and me worry about that. You just say yes to everything, all right?’ I stood and kissed his head. We heard the doorbell sounding. ‘That will be him.’
He gave an unhappy shrug. ‘Well, the final decision is your fiancé’s.’ I refused to bristle at this. For all his attempts at modernity, he was still a man born just after the middle of the previous century. ‘I’d better have that champagne cork popped because I refuse not to let this be a happy occasion.’
‘Good for you, Papa.’
Jove brought the cold air in with him, chilling my face with his affectionate hug as he pressed a kiss to both cheeks; the fire, too, guttered in protest at the draught as he arrived in the sitting room.
‘Jovian,’ my father welcomed, wrestling with a champagne cork, genuinely pleased to see him. They were clearly friendlier than I’d assumed. ‘Well done, old fellow. I am delighted to hear that congratulations are in order. Ready for a toast?’
‘Certainly today I am.’ He risked taking my hand in front of my father, who didn’t seem to mind in the slightest as my fiancé kissed it. ‘I am the luckiest fellow on the planet.’
‘I’ll say.’ The cork popped, exploding across the room, and I squealed as foaming champagne frothed onto the rug. ‘No harm done, darling,’ my father assured, laughing.
He tipped the sparkling wine into champagne bowls he’d readied and then handed us each one. We were all still standing and my father obviously wanted to mark this moment so I didn’t interrupt.
‘So, forgive me that I feel some words are necessary. This is an important moment for me to mark.’ He held his glass out. ‘To my darling child. Isla, you’ve made me proud all of your life but today you’ve made me exceptionally happy with the news of your engagement to a man I admire.’ He shifted his attention to my fiancé. ‘Jove.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I know you will treat my precious Isla with relentless care, and take joy in her achievements. I hope that you will love this girl forever and as much as I do.’ We waited, sensing he had more to say. ‘Isla, I know your mother will be smiling somewhere, delighted by this decision. Here’s to both of you wonderful people; give me grandchildren to jiggle on my knee and keep me occupied in my dotage. Welcome to the family, old boy.’
I smiled at Jove, knowing my eyes were damp from holding back the emotion as I watched my father make his toast. We clinked glasses and each took a silent sip. I was able to swallow back tears as the champagne slipped down with a deliciously dry sparkle at my throat as Jove nodded his thanks and made to respond.
‘Even Professor Reddish toppling off the Palace Pier that we visited today can’t make me smile as much as I’m smiling inside and out right now,’ he murmured to me. ‘Thank you, Charles. I promise to cherish Isla as you have and do. And come next winter, I’ll see what I can do about those grandchildren.’
I gave a soft gasp of feigned indignation for their benefit and my father found this enjoyably risqué, tapping his glass against Jove’s again.
‘Let’s sit,’ I said. ‘I thought we’d eat in here as we don’t entertain often and, when we do, never so cosily for one. I hope you like beef Wellington?’
‘I eat everything, never fear,’ Jove said, holding out a seat for me.
‘He eats like a bird, darling. You’ll have to get used to that.’
‘Modesty in everything, Charles. That’s my motto.’
‘So my apple crumble is wasted on you?’ I asked.
He gave me a look of pretend horror. ‘Never!’ Jove frowned. ‘You’ve cooked for me?’ He sounded genuinely surprised.
I nodded. ‘I enjoy it. We have our dear Lottie who comes during the week and does a bit of everything. She helped me this evening with our meal,’ I readily admitted. ‘Being in the kitchen diverts me,’ I added.
He waited, wanted to hear more, a look of query encouraging me.
‘After a day like yesterday something as simple and domestic as cooking is usually the perfect balm.’
‘Your work is so far from the yells and hoots and conniving of Parliament.’
‘Oh, don’t be so sure. The caterwauling of a mother in delivery can make your ears bleed sometimes,’ I said with exaggeration in my tone.
‘But you have something to show for your work. All we do is bluster and plot against each other.’
I stood to answer the soft knock at the door.
‘Do you look forward to having children?’
I wasn’t ready for the question and took a moment to open the door and smile at Lottie, who was waiting for the signal to serve. I nodded for her to go ahead and returned to his question and my seat around the table. ‘I must admit that knowing how complicated the most natural act for a woman can become, it can be unnerving but, yes, of course, I look forward to being a mother.’
‘And in the meantime I shall enjoy your fine food and hearing hospital tales.’
‘Isla has her cookery bible and she makes a mean sponge cake from it.’
I smiled fondly at my father. ‘There’s a tome called Mothers Cookery Book published about six years ago that my mother used to buy and donate to maternity wings of every hospital or clinic she came into contact with – not that she was working in obstetrics. It’s focused on infant welfare, as after the war and so many lost husbands, women were still living on frugal incomes. I like to give a copy out now to regional clinics wherever I visit.’
‘She set a fine example.’
I nodded. ‘She was generous in every way and never liked a fuss.’
Lottie had placed hot plates piled with beef Wellington, gravy and mashed potato in front of us. ‘I’ll bring the vegetables,’ she said with a grin.
‘Yes, it’s why I loved your mother. You’ll discover that I loathe fuss, so thank you for this.’ Jove unceremoniously tucked his napkin into his collar to make me smile. ‘I create a headache of laundry for my housekeeper or the club if I don’t,’ he admitted.
Lottie emerged once more with a platter of vegetables, glossy with butter and sprinkled with pepper and salt.
‘Tuck in,’ I urged.
Jove’s first mouthful of my pastry-e
ncased beef with mushroom paste prompted sounds of rapture. ‘Isla! This is heavenly. It’s surely better than the recipe at Claridge’s!’
‘I should hope so,’ I dismissed, disguising my delight with admonishment. ‘Baking especially brings me peace and it’s when I’m calm and distracted that I can work out problems.’
‘Like how to tell your father of your plans to go to Calcutta?’
Clever Jove. I knew what he was doing; we needed this tangled issue to be out in front of us so together we could tease it out.
‘Yes. Now, Mandeville, have you really signed off on this plan of Isla’s? Surely you have reservations?’
‘Charles, you and I both know that nothing is going to stop Isla if she sets her mind to something. I am not going to order her to do anything other than come back to me, although Isla understands I am setting some conditions.’ It was only now he turned to look at me with a different cast to his expression. Amusement did not lurk in it. Jove was pushing his flag into the ground and marking it as the line that must not be crossed. As much as I thought I was a woman who would resist any sort of bullying I found this new quality charming because he made it feel like a fierce protection, part of his overwhelming love. I also hadn’t missed that his early ‘condition’ had suddenly become plural.
‘Let’s hear them,’ my father said.
‘I am in agreement that Isla will pursue her important work in tropical medicine, and particularly her desire to help the women and their babies of Calcutta.’
I nodded but held my tongue.
‘Of course, you as her father will have your own view on this but in terms of her agreement with me, we have pledged that no matter when she leaves for India she will return during September with November the month of our wedding.’
It was plainly laid out; I sensed no guile to trap me. ‘I am agreed to this,’ I said firmly. It was likely unnecessary but I needed my father to hear it.
My father sighed and blew out his cheeks. ‘I suppose Isla has spoken of her mother to you?’
‘She has, Charles. She knows this contradicts your promise to her mother but it’s fair to presume that neither of you could entirely know Isla’s mind or her determination at the time of . . . ’ He gave a soft sound of sadness that allowed him to avoid saying the words. ‘I’m sure you sense her determination to bear out her fine pedigree in medicine and I shall not be the one who even attempts to deny her that longing. I believe it may settle something disruptive within her too.’ He flicked a glance my way. ‘Forgive me for speaking about you as though you are not present, Isla, but I am laying out my thoughts for both of you to hear.’ He returned his gaze to Papa. ‘Charles, I fear that if we make this difficult for Isla, then her marriage to me might bear the brunt of her unhappiness. I think she is entitled to the same dreams and goals that either of us might be. The fact that hers frighten us is irrelevant; they don’t frighten her. If she were your son you’d likely be clapping him on the back for his adventuresome approach to life. Frankly, I’m drawn all the more to Isla for her temerity. She’s perfectly capable of making her own decisions and I support her in this.’
I felt the urge to fling myself into Jove’s arms for his generosity but also for how quickly he had understood what drove me, and he seemed to capture the spirit of my dream faster and more eloquently than perhaps even I could. I flicked my attention to my father. It rested on him now but I was wrong; there was more.
‘I feel I must make one other condition, though,’ Jove spoke into the silence, ‘and perhaps it bears airing now before your father gives us his blessing.’ He looked at me, perhaps noting the surprise before I could hide it.
‘Go on,’ I said, realising I was twirling the new ring on my finger, which suddenly felt heavy.
‘When you come home to me, Isla, and you take holy vows to be my wife, that is you leaving India behind; I want you to put our marriage, this family,’ he said, gesturing towards my father, ‘and definitely our lives first.’
‘Of course —’ I began, slightly indignant, but my response was hasty for him and I noticed how his neat fingers splayed slightly as though he was fighting the urge to raise a hand to stop me speaking. I stopped anyway, the breath of words backing up in my throat.
‘Let me explain fully. As my wife, I anticipate you wholly involved in our life, not just yours.’ He put fresh appeal in his voice, his palms open to me as he continued. ‘You’re a doctor in your own right, a woman to be admired and sought out. I don’t want your work once we’re married to ever take precedence over our relationship. Your father is my witness that I will never disrespect or take for granted that you have agreed to be my wife. I will put you first and I will include you in all decisions that relate to our family life – from where we may travel to where we shall live, to the schools our children go to and when. You are my equal in our marriage.’
I swallowed what felt like a ball of emotion that had risen to my throat at his stirring words but I knew what lay in them was his warning. I needed to pause, pay full attention to what he was actually saying rather than hearing only the cautionary note in his voice.
‘While I would never ask you to give up your work as a doctor, Isla, I will be asking you to leave behind all future thoughts you may entertain for working abroad once you become my wife. So, to this end, I think you should leave England without wearing my ring.’
I gasped but he gently raised a hand to quieten my anxiety.
‘I don’t wish it back, just returned to its box and left with your father until you come home to claim it. I want you to go to India without encumbrance.’
‘Why?’ I frowned.
‘Because – and you must forgive me if this sounds in any way condescending, although it comes with noble intention – you’re young and you don’t know what the future holds or how you may feel. I will not break faith with you, darling Isla. In ten months you will return and all that will be on my mind is making you my wife, but we don’t know how India might affect you.’
I frowned deeper.
‘Travel broadens lives . . . it introduces you to people and cultures, to ideas and experiences that you’d never thought possible. I know through my own travels how I’ve been changed.’
‘It will not change how I feel about us or our marriage.’
‘Nevertheless, I want you to have the complete freedom to experience all that this adventure offers, without guilt, and to return home to me without burden. Get India out of your system, Isla. Enjoy it to the full and then return to England freely and genuinely ready to become Mrs Mandeville. As long as I breathe, you will never go abroad again without me and I plan to be travelling far and wide with you. Icescapes in Alaska, the great red desert of that vast continent of Australia on the other side of the world, the massive rift of the Grand Canyon in America, the jungle of Africa, Bethlehem in Palestine, the pyramids of Egypt . . . ’ He stopped himself, but his eyes continued to sparkle with memory. He caught himself and shrugged, smiling.
I applauded his directness, even if I wanted to rail against his presumption that India would change me; it wouldn’t.
‘You not wearing my ring abroad is to prevent putting either of us in any danger of a broken engagement and the tarnish that brings.’ His expression shifted into his melancholy smile, the one I glimpsed in the tearooms. ‘It’s also a protective measure, for to love you too deeply, believe you’re to be mine and to lose you would break me. I know it.’ He held my gaze and I saw only tenderness and plea in it.
That couldn’t have been easy for him in front of my father. Watching him deliver his impassioned speech, pewter-coloured eyes softened by emotion, made me feel deeply wanted and, above all, enormously special. Men had tried before and failed. What was it about Jove?
I took a slow, visible breath and in that moment it was as though time slid to a pause. I relaxed my shoulders finally. ‘I accept your conditions on the basis that they’re made with a sense of care for my wellbeing as much as yours,’ I replied. I laughed as m
y father gusted a breath of relief. ‘I want to marry you, Jove. I’m looking forward to being your wife.’
‘Oh, my heavens, let’s drink to that,’ my father said, reaching again for his glass of champagne, still fizzing merrily. ‘To the future Mr and Mrs Jovian Mandeville. I hope you’re watching, Clara!’ he said, raising his glass and looking to the ceiling as though he had a private channel open to my mother.
6
For the last few weeks in London my heart felt as light as a hot air balloon on a summer’s day, although I’d been convinced I would look like a simpleton if I allowed this sense of ridiculously elevated happiness to show through. I could swear the colour of London had magnified itself, as though I had entered a special tunnel that could only be accessed by the newly engaged, or those freshly afflicted by romance in their lives.
Love, if I’m honest, remained a fearful word. It was used so casually and yet I felt it carried with it so much force that I didn’t utter it to Jove. He lavished me with it and didn’t seem perturbed that I wasn’t responding in kind. He took instead my laughter as proof, together with the physical affections – the smiles, the moments he caught me gazing at him, the kisses. I found these so much easier to give him as a demonstration of my growing fondness. And there’s no doubting that after that last month together, as we had hurtled towards Christmas, I couldn’t remember a happier time in my life. I was far too much of a scientist to turn sudden philosopher, so I was content to leave love as an elusive emotion I shouldn’t question. All I can say is that I had been waking with a new sense of myself. There had arrived a novel warmth within, despite the chill of dawn; helpless smiles when normally there might have been a grimace at having to arise in the dark of a winter’s morning; and a sense of pleasure and anticipation and even – I can’t believe I admit this – a sense of belonging to someone. As important, though, and I couldn’t say this to anyone, was the knowledge that I was finally filled with my purpose. It was no longer a secret. My childhood dream was becoming a reality.
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