Molly too had become part of her life these days, though the three of them of them had not met together since the afternoon at the Ritz. Her idea for the line of smart clothing for country ladies had been realised and, as its sponsor on the magazine, Barbara had been commissioned to write a short piece. It would be her first sortie into print. Both clothes and article had been well received. Mr Danby actually suggested she take Molly out to lunch to cement this useful, new contact. It was another first, the use of the company’s expense account, though she was put on notice not to push the boat out.
‘There’s a nice, little French place off Drury Lane that we usually use,’ he told her. ‘Two ladies can have a very pleasant lunch there, with change from two shillings.’
The little French place was homely rather than chic, with checked tablecloths and thick carafes, but the lunch still felt like an adventure. Molly was greatly amused.
‘Who would have thought it a year ago – you and I having a business lunch!’
‘More of a thank you, really.’
‘But we’re women of the world! We know what we’re about.’
It was on the tip of Barbara’s tongue to ask ‘Do we?’ Not long ago she would have asked, but now she accepted both the statement and the designation.
‘I think we should have a glass of wine,’ said Molly, ‘to celebrate. Don’t worry, we’ll order a pichet, that won’t break the bank and I shall pitch in.’
They had a jolly time discussing fashion, congratulating themselves and (as usual with Molly) rather wickedly working over their respective colleagues.
Over the crème brûlée, Molly asked, ‘How is Johnny? It’s an age since I saw him.’
‘He’s very well,’ said Barbara, adding quickly, ‘as far as I know.’
To her relief, Molly did not react like someone who had caught her out.
‘I’m so glad to hear that. As you may have guessed, I’m awfully fond of him. He’s my special boy.’
So the secret was out anyway. Barbara knew Molly well enough by now to appreciate that beneath the froth of gossip-mongering lay iron discretion reserved for true friends.
‘Molly, I wonder … would you tell me about him.’
‘But you’re seeing him often.’ Molly leaned back for coffee to be poured. ‘What could I possibly tell you?’
‘He doesn’t talk about himself.’
‘Ha! Does he not?’
‘No. He wants to hear about me though, all the time.’
‘You don’t say? When he’s with me we talk exclusively about Johnny.’ She helped herself to cream. ‘He must be in love with you. It’s the only possible explanation.’
‘He is.’ It was so strange to say it. ‘Or at least that’s what he says.’
‘You don’t believe him?’
She hesitated before answering, ‘He asked me to believe in him. And I do.’
‘Believing in and believing are not the same thing.’
‘I do both.’
Molly glanced away, as if spotting something in the street. ‘Then good. And you love him back?’
Now she could proclaim it, ‘Yes.’
‘How extraordinary …!’ Molly sounded both pleased and mystified. ‘How wonderful for you both.’
Had she said too much? Her face was fiery. ‘Please don’t, don’t—’
‘Never worry. As I said, I hardly see him these days and if I do my lips shall be sealed. You will not be a topic for discussion.’
‘Thank you.’
‘And to prove it, I shall stop prying and tell you about my ghastly experience with the harridan at Selfridges …’
A little later they stood on the pavement.
‘Thank you to countrywomen everywhere for my nice lunch.’ Molly said. ‘Let’s see each other again soon.’ They touched cheeks and she made to go, then turned back. ‘You asked me to tell you about Johnny. I haven’t forgotten. One of these days when we have more time I will, I promise. For now, I hope my boy is good to you.’
‘He is.’
‘And …’ Molly adjusted Barbara’s hat in a way that was almost motherly ‘… you will be good to him too, won’t you?’
Walking back to the office, Barbara wondered why there could be the slightest doubt of that; being good to Johnny was her raison d’être.
All of her spare time was spent with him, though they rarely made arrangements. It was always just ‘See you tomorrow’ and he would turn up: at her door, outside the office, waiting at the bus stop. She still didn’t know where – or how – he lived and when she asked he told her he was ‘of no fixed abode’, which worried her, reminding her as it did of the tramp.
‘But, surely, you do have somewhere?’
‘Generally speaking, yes. And, if I’m desperate, I can rely on Molly to put me up.’
She wondered how often he was desperate and exactly what it meant. She herself had never been desperate and scarcely had a worry or felt real fear in her whole life.
Johnny didn’t like it if Barbara had reason to be away or out of town. Since her minor coup with Molly, she was being given occasional editorial work and it was in the nature of things that this often involved going out of London to interview the county hostess du jour, or the president of some particularly successful Women’s Institute.
‘How long will you be?’ he would ask. ‘When will you be back?’ Or once, quite pitifully, ‘Can I come too? I shan’t be any trouble.’
She had told him no, he would be bored and she would be self-conscious with an audience. He dismissed the first but accepted the second. ‘I’d hate to upset your work.’
She couldn’t tell him the real reasons: that he could not afford the fare; that she could not pay for him; that Mr Danby would not approve and that his presence, however peripheral, would complicate matters. When Johnny was with her, he was all she could think of.
‘Will you be all right?’ he would ask. ‘Don’t talk to any strange men on the train.’
She was so precious to him and he to her, more than she could say. Though there was little she could do to protect him. When he wasn’t with her, it was as though he dematerialised. She lived in a state of longing and heightened tension until he reappeared and then, when she saw him, her heart raced and her limbs grew weak. He could tell – how could he not? He would take her hands in his and bury his face in her palms, as he had done that first time and sometimes she could swear she felt tears. Their kisses were fiercer and more passionate, sometimes she thought she might die of longing; she had lost weight. But if someone had asked how things stood between them, she would have been unable to answer.
And then, one day, as they sat by the Round Pond in Kensington Gardens, Johnny asked, out of the blue, ‘Are we near where your parents live?’
‘No, our house is by Regents Park.’
‘Close to the Zoo.’
‘Not far.’
‘Can you hear lions roaring in the night?’
‘Mummy used to say she had, when I was little, but I think it was just a story.’
They watched a wooden yacht drift past and a small boy trotting between them and the water, keeping pace.
‘Could we go and see them?’
‘Do let’s – I haven’t been to the Zoo for years.’
‘I mean your parents.’
She was so sure he was joking, that he had really meant the lions and was teasing her that she simply smiled and didn’t answer.
‘Barbara?’ He gave her arm a gentle shake. ‘Honestly, I’d like to.’
She looked at him and saw that he was in deadly earnest. Why? This was their secret, surely. She had not so much as mentioned him to her father and mother, even when Julia had asked about ‘having fun’. And besides, if she were to introduce him, what might they assume? And would they approve? She examined her feelings. She wasn’t ashamed of Johnny – no, surely not – but she did feel protective of him. She did not wish other people, especially people she loved, to mistrust or disapprove of him, to try and discou
rage her from seeing him.
‘Barbara.’ He took her hand in his thin, cool one. ‘I won’t let you down, I promise.’
She almost flinched at how close he had come to the truth. ‘Of course you won’t! I wasn’t thinking that.’
‘But the idea worries you.’
She hesitated. ‘A little.’
‘Why?’
It was important, she knew, to be both truthful and careful. ‘Because I want them so much to like you.’
‘And you think they might not.’ This wasn’t a question. He was looking down at their joined hands, stroking hers with his thumb.
‘They’re like me. They’re conventional.’
‘And they’re like me, too.’ He let the unspoken question hang for a second between them. ‘They love you.’
Her heart compressed, expanded. Since meeting Johnny she had become conscious of the heart as an organ, not simply an idea – a muscle that could ache, pound, plummet and skip a beat … Perhaps, yes, break.
‘Not in the same way, I know that,’ he went on, ‘but they want you to be happy, don’t they?’
‘More than anything.’
‘So Barbara …’ his smile was like a sunrise, he raised his arms ‘… what’s the problem?’
Twelve
There was no problem, well, not one that she could adequately express.
Two weeks later, they were walking along the road by the park, beneath a shared umbrella. Barbara was abuzz with nerves, but Johnny was cheerful and enthusiastic. The visit had been his idea and he appeared simply to have decided that all would be well. And more – that he would take responsibility for its success. He wore the newly-cleaned suit, with a fresh shirt and polished shoes. There was a shaving nick on his right cheek; he had even, she noticed, had a haircut. Still, it was odd to reflect that the last – the only – previous suitor her parents had ever met had been Stanley, a distinguished middle-aged man whom they already knew. Their reaction to that liaison (especially in Julia’s case) while it may have been one of slight surprise, was generally favourable. Vitally, it had been of no importance to Barbara herself. Whereas this – this was a leap into the unknown.
Johnny paused, holding her arm. ‘Hang on.’
She stopped. Were they about to call it off?
‘Listen.’
‘What?’
‘Can you hear them?’ He put his face close to hers, his eyes were brilliant. ‘The lions!’
She shook her head. ‘No.’
He laughed, he sounded elated. ‘Me neither.’
Over the next three hours, Barbara had almost to pinch herself several times. The dinner was a success beyond her wildest dreams. Johnny charmed both her parents, though she could hardly have said how. His manner on first arriving was uncharacteristically diffident, he gazed about him with frank admiration and asked Barbara – quietly, but clearly enough to be heard – who was the Edwardian beauty in the portrait over the mantlepiece.
‘That’s Mummy.’
‘What a perfectly lovely picture.’
‘Many years ago,’ said Julia, clearly gratified. ‘Very different times.’
‘It’s glorious.’
Barbara was glad he hadn’t offered a direct compliment on her mother’s appearance, which her father would have found suspect. Also, that did not mention his own unsuccessful stab at painting, though she feared the topic was bound to come up. Before dinner, there was general and light talk over sherry (Johnny barely touched his). They spoke of the wet spring, the proximity of the zoo (yes, Barbara really had heard the lions all those years ago), the merits of town versus country and the sad but ultimately satisfactory disposal of Ardonleigh. Johnny sat on the edge of his chair as if poised for flight, paying close attention to every word, brow slightly furrowed, speaking when spoken to. On the subject of country life he was gently self-deprecating.
‘I’m out of my depth – pretty hopeless I’m afraid’. He confessed himself dazzled by the ‘quite wonderful’ house. Conrad was affable – also mostly listening – but, in her father’s case, Barbara caught the unmistakable whiff of powder being kept dry. However polite and personable Johnny appeared to be, the moment would come when her father would want to know a little more. This small anxiety, combined with her elation at how well things had gone thus far, resulted in her having small appetite for dinner.
Johnny however ate hungrily: celery soup, wiener schnitzel (a particular favourite of Conrad’s), queen of puddings (Julia’s contribution, it was her speciality) all went down with expressions of warm appreciation. This was unsurprising, Barbara knew he didn’t eat well or even that often, he was always strapped for cash and careless of his own well-being, but she could tell her parents were impressed.
‘You’re a good trencherman,’ observed Julia smilingly.
‘Everything is so delicious. Especially this,’ he indicated the pudding with his spoon, ‘the best I’ve had.’
Conrad was waiting for the cheese. ‘You know the way to my wife’s heart. I’m no pudding man.’ He paused. Barbara sensed the inevitable enquiry coming down the line. ‘Tell me Eldridge, what do you when you’re not eating us out of house and home?’
Barbara’s stomach churned, but Johnny replied quickly and easily.
‘I’m a jack of all trades, I’m afraid, sir. But my excuse is that, by not having any special talent or much formal education, I have to make a living by trying things out.’
Conrad nodded.
‘That sounds exciting,’ said Julia for whom, it was becoming clear, Johnny could do no wrong. ‘What sort of things?’
Barbara’s hands clenched tight on her napkin.
‘Well, I do odd jobs. I’m pretty handy about the house. For instance, I could build you a shed if you wanted one. Or paint your window frames. Sort out your garden, though actually …’ he smiled quickly and apologetically ‘… I imagine your garden wouldn’t need sorting out. And I’m good with dogs,’ he added, as if this was an important point he had omitted to mention. ‘They like me and I like them, we get along famously.’
Throughout this description Conrad listened and watched with an expression of polite neutrality. As it ended, the cheese arrived and he cut and speared a slab of cheddar.
‘We used to have dogs, in the country.’
‘I’d like one now,’ said Julia, ‘but since we spend all our time in London … I miss them rather.’ She sighed, turning to Barbara. ‘You remember, don’t you?’
‘I loved them dearly.’
And to Johnny, Julia mentioned, ‘they were Barbara’s playmates, inseparable.’
‘I can imagine.’
‘Have you ever owned one?’
Johnny shook his head. ‘No, never. Not the right circumstances. I have to content myself with befriending other people’s.’
‘It sounds as if you make yourself indispensable,’ said Julia. No one but Conrad was having cheese, but he was taking his time, cutting and munching appreciatively, perhaps making the most of a reason not to offer an opinion.
‘You have some wonderful pictures, Mrs Delahay.’ Johnny pointed to one over the sideboard. ‘That beach scene is enchanting.’
Enchanting. Barbara’s face was hot, but her mother was duly enchanted.
‘It is pretty, isn’t it? It’s by Piers Tredegar, do you know him?’
‘I’ve not come across him before.’
Conrad dabbed his mouth with his napkin. ‘He was very popular in our parents’ time. That one belonged to my wife’s mother.’
‘He gave it to her,’ said Julia. This was a familiar family story. ‘The beach is Holkham, in Norfolk, and she used to say that the group of children included her and her brother – you remember Uncle Geo, Bar?’
‘Who could forget?’ Great Uncle Geo had been a colourful figure of her youth, given to waistcoats and song, both of them loud. Although much younger than her grandmother, he had predeceased her. He was the first person Barbara knew who had been taken in the midst of life.
Johnny pushed his chair back. ‘Would you mind if I took a closer look?’
‘Of course. Please do. In fact, I shall do the same. It’s so nice to have someone who’s genuinely interested in these things.’
The two of them went to the sideboard and studied the picture, Julia pointing out the child believed to be her mother, the boy who might be Geo, the fisherman sewing nets whom she remembered as a rather frightening, whiskery, old man.
‘That beach was wonderful, a huge playground, we ran wild as hawks. My parents were not typical Victorians.’
‘It sounds an idyllic childhood.’
‘I suppose it was …’ Julia sighed happily as she returned to her place. ‘One takes one’s childhood for granted, rather. It’s only later you realise that it was in any way different from other people’s.’
‘That’s true.’ Johnny sat down and glanced at Barbara, for almost the first time. ‘Very true.’
‘You seem to have an eye for paintings,’ Conrad said. ‘Did you ever do any yourself?’
‘I’ve played at it, that’s all.’ He pulled a smiling grimace. ‘As Barbara knows. One or two people have been kind enough to encourage me, but I’m realistic enough to see it was just that – kindness.’
‘Realism can be a spur to success, unlike false modesty.’
‘Believe me, sir, no modesty required!’
Her father chuckled. Yet again a potentially uncomfortable moment had come and gone and the awkwardness had been averted, Barbara wasn’t sure how. No lies had been told – on the contrary, Johnny had been truthful, and somehow made a virtue of the truthfulness. She felt proud, touched and bursting with love as she sat there next to him. His skin was so thin and so white she could make out the blue veins on his temple and see them pulse. His hands rested on his knees, the long fingers stretched forward like antennae; she longed to touch them.
‘Now, then,’ Julia clapped her hands and clasped them beneath her chin. ‘I am wondering whether you would like to see some more pictures. Just a few, the better ones, we do have quite a collection.’
The Rose in Winter Page 11