by Lesley Eames
The next time they met Polly asked if they’d received a postcard from Jack.
‘We have indeed.’ Lizzie produced a card which showed a photograph of Brighton pier.
‘Maybe we could go to the seaside one day,’ Polly said.
‘Maybe.’
But for now they were busy. Conscious of being the only amateurs in the show, they’d invested a lot of time in practising, which meant they’d fallen behind with other things. For Lizzie, that meant giving the house a thorough clean, weeding the garden, catching up with sewing and darning, and arranging concerts. For Polly, it meant making up to old Mrs Bishop for all the time spent rehearsing.
More postcards came from Jack as the weeks passed. Polly always looked pleased to see the pictures – the seafront, the clock on Marine Parade and the wonderfully exotic Royal Pavilion with its domes and minarets – but also seemed keen to read the messages Jack had written on the back. ‘It’s nice that Jack’s show is doing so well,’ she said, more than once.
Encouraged, Lizzie thought that the sooner he returned to London, the better. But just before the Brighton show finished its run Jack wrote to say he’d picked up work with a touring company. He’d be moving along the south coast for the next six weeks. The question in Lizzie’s mind was whether Amy would be moving with him.
*
The war entered its fourth year in August. There was still no sign of peace but Lizzie began to look forward to both Harry and Matt being granted leave before the year was out. Her heart soared when, sooner than she’d allowed herself to expect it, Harry wrote to say he was due in London in four days’ time.
Waiting for his arrival, Lizzie bubbled with happy anticipation, but every now and then uncertainty crept onto her horizon. Their feelings had survived one year apart but the war had battered him down for a further year since then and who knew how that might have affected him? His letters were full of love, but it was the British way to show a stiff upper lip to the world. Beneath the surface…
The day before he was due back in England another letter arrived from him that sent Lizzie’s emotions into a different sort of whirl. I’ve had an idea and I hope you’ll approve of it, he wrote. I’d like to take you stay with my family in Surrey for a few days. Do say you’ll come, darling girl.
It was kind of him to invite her, but how would his parents feel about an unexpected guest? How would they feel about Lizzie? She’d heard enough about them to know that they inhabited a much more luxurious world than she did. Their idea of a suitable young woman for their son might be different indeed from a girl who worked for her living and had only a few pounds in a Post Office savings account to her name.
Lizzie had always known that, if her romance with Harry continued, she’d have to meet his family sooner or later. But just now she didn’t feel ready.
30
The first thing Harry did was to hold Lizzie close in a way that left her in no doubt that his feelings for her were as strong as ever – as hers were for him. A kiss followed. Another hug. Another kiss. And then the laughter of relief that the first nervous moment of meeting was behind them.
They moved into the music room where a fire burnt brightly in Harry’s honour. ‘Is Miss Penrose not at home?’ he asked.
‘Out visiting.’ Margaret was growing more tactful with every year that passed and her absence undoubtedly owed more to a wish to give Harry and Lizzie time alone than to a need to see Cordelia.
‘In that case…’ Harry sat in an armchair and lifted Lizzie onto his lap.
She snuggled into his chest.
‘What do you think of my idea of spending a few days in Surrey?’ he asked.
‘It’s kind of you to invite me.’
‘But?’ He pulled back to study her. ‘You’re not worried about meeting my family?’
‘Perhaps a little.’
‘They’ll adore you,’ Harry promised. ‘You’re kind, beautiful, intelligent and most important of all – to them anyway – you make me happy.’
Lizzie wasn’t convinced. Harry loved her. His family didn’t. They might not even give her a chance to let them see what sort of person she was.
But Lizzie had no grounds for suspecting that Harry’s family were snobs beyond the fact that his parents were wealthy and his sisters had all married into comfortable circumstances. ‘Perhaps I’m being silly.’
‘It would be ungallant of me to agree that you’re silly,’ Harry said, smiling. ‘Let’s just agree that you’re becomingly modest. You’ll come to Surrey tomorrow? Assuming your teaching and concert commitments allow it?’
‘I’ll come, but I can only manage one night. You’ll thank your parents for inviting me?’
Harry was travelling down to Surrey later that day. ‘Of course.’
Lizzie would have been happy to take the train the following morning but Harry insisted on driving up to London to collect her in his father’s car. ‘It’ll give us more time together, darling.’
He came early so they could reach Surrey in time for lunch. The drive was pleasant and Lizzie warmed to the leafy green of Harry’s home county. ‘It’s peaceful and pretty here,’ she remarked, admiring trees, hedgerows, and lovely houses set in extensive gardens.
‘We’re all very fond of it. Don’t imagine we always live quietly, though. Dinners, parties, tennis, golf… We’re all rather social. My mother and sisters do charitable work too, so time never hangs heavily.’
A sign announced that they were entering the village of Beechfield Green. ‘Nearly there,’ Harry said.
Lizzie’s nerves fluttered as the car passed between tall gateposts and came to a halt outside a rambling house of great loveliness. Her old home in Witherton had been substantial, but this house was both bigger and grander, with numerous gables across the front and climbing plants growing around an oak-timbered porch.
‘Home,’ Harry said.
He helped her out of the car but put a hand on her arm when she moved towards her case. ‘Robert will see to it.’
Robert? The front door opened and a maid in traditional black dress, white cap and apron stood waiting. She must have been on the watch for them. ‘Thank you, Bridget,’ Harry said, leading Lizzie towards her. ‘Where is everyone?’
‘In the family sitting room, sir.’
A young manservant entered the hall. ‘Ah, Robert,’ Harry said. ‘Could you see to Miss Kellaway’s luggage and take the car around the back?’
‘Certainly, sir.’
Bridget took their coats and Harry guided Lizzie across a large wood-panelled hall to one of the doors. ‘We’re here!’ he announced, throwing it open.
‘Harry, darling!’ A fair-haired, middle-aged woman dripping lace and pearls rose to her feet.
Maria Benedict, Lizzie supposed. Harry’s mother.
‘This must be Miss Kellaway. Welcome, my dear. We’re most happy to meet you.’ Mrs Benedict tilted her cheek for Harry to kiss then offered a hand to Lizzie. It was soft and feminine.
A man came forward. Doubtless Harry’s father, Giles. He was dark-haired like his son. ‘Delighted,’ he said, shaking her hand with a much firmer grip.
Lizzie was introduced to Harry’s sisters who were just as he’d described them. Eleanor, the eldest, was tall and imposing. Alicia was a little less so, while Charlotte, the youngest, was soft and round. All were fair, and all appeared to be friendly.
‘These are the grandchildren,’ Mrs Benedict said then.
‘We don’t expect you to remember all their names,’ Charlotte added.
‘Well, let’s see.’ Lizzie bent to shake hands with all eight children, listening as each one gave their name. Straightening again, she pointed to each child in turn. ‘Thomas, Albert, Celia, Matilda, Ralph, Louisa, Edmund, and Letitia, the latest addition to the family. Letty for short.’
‘You’ve been coaching her, Harry,’ Charlotte suggested.
‘Not me.’
‘Remembering children’s names is a knack that comes from teaching piano,’
Lizzie explained.
She felt better for this early chance to be open about the fact that she worked for a living. She wasn’t ashamed of it.
‘You’re clever!’ Edmund declared, and everyone laughed, their friendliness undimmed.
‘Sherry?’ Mr Benedict suggested.
This sherry was nothing like the awful stuff Margaret bought. It was smooth and probably expensive.
Lizzie wanted to look around the room but resisted the temptation, not wishing to appear rude. She still formed an impression of French windows curtained with heavy brocade, a large marble fireplace, several sofas, chairs and side tables, and numerous photographs in silver frames.
‘Do sit,’ Eleanor invited, patting the seat next to her, but at that moment there was a stir at the door and three men entered in golfing clothes.
The sisters’ husbands, Lizzie assumed, and she was duly introduced to Frank, Paul and Jonathan. All three men appeared to be friendly too.
‘I hope you’ll excuse us turning up straight from the golf course, Miss Kellaway,’ Frank said.
‘Certainly.’
‘Who won?’ Eleanor asked.
‘The honours went to Jonathan,’ he told her. ‘Paul’s ball was stuck in a bunker for an age and I just couldn’t hit straight today. Next time we’ll give the blighter a decent challenge, though. Eh, Paul?’
‘Indeed. You’ve been warned, Jon.’
Jonathan grinned.
‘What time’s lunch?’ Frank asked then. ‘Eighteen holes make a chap hungry. You must be famished too after the drive, Miss Kellaway.’
Before she could reply Bridget appeared to announce that luncheon was ready in the dining room.
‘Full house today, what?’ Frank remarked, as they settled around the capacious table.
There was soup followed by poached salmon then a fruit compote. All of the food was delicious and so was the wine.
Maria Benedict had placed Lizzie at her side. ‘We don’t always have wine with luncheon but we wanted your welcome to feel special.’
‘Fear not, Miss Kellaway,’ Eleanor said from across the table. ‘We’re crowding you today but you’ll have a quieter day tomorrow.’
‘I’m grateful for the chance to meet you all,’ Lizzie said. She paused, then added, ‘Please call me Lizzie.’
Harry’s sisters and brothers-in-law were all happy to be called by their Christian names. No one suggested she should call his parents Maria and Giles but Lizzie wouldn’t have felt comfortable with that anyway. Not yet.
The conversation mostly flitted between family concerns about dentists, cooks, food supplies and neighbours, but sometimes Lizzie was asked about her life in London. She guessed the questions were driven partly by a wish to include her, and partly by a wish to probe into her suitability for Harry.
She’d expected it and decided not to mind. It was natural for them to be curious about the girl Harry loved. Besides, she was proud when she talked about Margaret, their teaching and the concerts they performed.
‘These are amateur concerts?’ Mrs Benedict asked.
‘Oh, yes. They’re our small contribution to the war effort.’
‘Doubtless much appreciated by your audiences.’ Mrs Benedict paused then added, musingly. ‘Teaching music is a respectable way for a young woman to occupy her time until she settles down.’
‘My girls are learning the piano,’ Eleanor told Lizzie. ‘Their teacher is terribly strict, though. No sense of humour. I’m sure my girls would rather have a teacher like you.’
‘My Louisa won’t be ready to learn for another year or two,’ Charlotte said. ‘Perhaps Lizzie will be able to teach her then.’
Did this mean that Lizzie had passed muster with this family? She rather thought she had, especially when Harry sent her a glowing look of approval.
After lunch, the men took the children into the garden for a run-around, Paul limping due to his foot injury but doing his best to keep up. Lizzie returned to the family sitting room with the women. They told her about their own war efforts – knitting, rolling bandages and organising parcels for the troops. Eleanor also took flowers into the local hospital each week and all four Benedict women served on charity committees.
‘We lead full lives here in Surrey,’ Mrs Benedict said.
‘We’re never dull,’ Charlotte agreed.
Looking through the window, Lizzie watched Harry chase the children across the lawn. He was a thoroughly nice man as well as a handsome one, and Lizzie felt a burst of love for him. How lucky she was to have his love in return.
Later, after his sisters had left and Lizzie had seen the room she’d been allocated – a delightful room overlooking the extensive garden – Harry took her aside and drew her into his arms. ‘I hope you don’t want to run all the way back to London after having the entire family foisted onto you,’ he said.
‘I like them.’
‘They like you.’
He smiled then kissed her. With a sigh of contentment, Lizzie kissed him back.
The next morning, she attended church with Harry and his parents. Luncheon followed, then Harry suggested taking Lizzie for a drive.
‘Good idea,’ his father said. ‘You young things shouldn’t be with old people like us all day.’
‘Show Lizzie something of the area,’ his mother suggested.
Harry did so, and the more Lizzie saw of lush, green Surrey the more she liked it. ‘That looks pretty,’ she said, pointing to a wood they were passing.
‘The perfect place for a walk,’ Harry agreed.
He drew the car to a halt and they entered the wood arm in arm, following a path that rambled between oaks, sycamores, hornbeams, beeches and alders. Squirrels leapt from branch to branch above them. Birds flitted in trees. ‘I can hear a woodpecker,’ Harry remarked.
Listening, Lizzie heard it too. She smiled up at him and he turned to face her, releasing her arm to cup her face. ‘I love you so much, dearest girl. I know that if you add up the hours we’ve spent together, they’re relatively few. But we’ve been writing for almost two years now and those letters – those many letters – have helped us to get to know each other and grow closer. Months of separation might have seen a weaker courtship wither. My feelings for you only grow stronger. So I hope you don’t feel I’m being premature when I ask you a question. It doesn’t feel premature to me. It feels right. Darling Lizzie, will you do me the very great honour of becoming my wife?’
Was it foolish to feel so taken by surprise? Yes, she and Harry were in love. Yes, he’d introduced her to his family. But Lizzie had seen being in love and meeting Harry’s family as stepping stones on the way to a shared future that would only come to pass once the war was over, Harry was safely at home and they were seeing more of each other.
‘You think it’s too soon?’ Disappointment shadowed Harry’s face and it grieved her to see him hurting.
‘I just wasn’t expecting this. It’s knocked the wind out of my sails.’
Thoughts raced through Lizzie’s head and a matching maelstrom of emotions raced through her heart. Why was she hesitating when there was no doubt in her mind that she loved Harry and he loved her?
Was it because she feared jinxing the future if she started to plan it?
Or because she feared their feelings might change once the war ended and they were living ordinary lives that were no longer shadowed by the constant fear of tragedy?
Or was Lizzie worried that Margaret might think it too soon?
All of those reasons, perhaps. But only an idiot would let superstition influence her decision and wasn’t life always full of risk?
‘You’re not sure you love me deeply enough, is that it?’ Harry asked.
‘Not at all! Of course I’ll marry you!’
Lizzie threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, relieved to see warmth and joy re-enter his face. She’d have hated to send him back to the war a dejected man.
‘No proposal is complete without a ring,’ he said, and he dre
w a small box from his pocket.
Inside was a ring. A diamond solitaire. Beautiful, but as he slid it onto her finger, they realised it was too loose. ‘I’ll write to the jewellers in London and warn them to expect you to return the ring for alteration,’ Harry said. ‘They’ll need to measure your finger, of course.’
‘Tell them we’ll return it together when you’re next on leave. I’d like you to be the first person to put the ring on my finger once it’s been altered.’
‘That means you won’t be able to wear it in the meantime.’
‘Yes, I will.’ Lizzie reached up to unfasten the silver chain on which she’d hung her mother’s ring. She slid Harry’s ring alongside it. ‘It makes me happy to think of your ring hanging next my mother’s,’ she told him. ‘She’d have been overwhelmed with joy to know I’m marrying a man as wonderful as you.’
Lizzie turned serious suddenly. ‘We must cling to our happiness, Harry. To hope, too.’
Harry nodded, smiled and kissed her. ‘Shall we go back and share our good news?’
‘Yes, let’s,’ Lizzie said, though with trepidation. Harry’s family had been welcoming so far, but perhaps they’d decided on tolerance because they expected that time and distance would put an end to their son’s interest in her eventually so it wasn’t worth kicking up a fuss of opposition.
She was pleasantly surprised by their obvious delight. ‘It’s so lovely to see our dear boy happy!’ Mrs Benedict declared.
‘It certainly is,’ Giles Benedict agreed. ‘There’s some champagne in the cellar that I’ve been saving for a special occasion, and occasions don’t come more special than this. Ring the bell, Maria. Let’s have it brought up.’
‘Have you given any thought to the wedding?’ Mrs Benedict asked, but her husband laughed.
‘Maria, they’ve only been engaged for half an hour.’
‘I know. I suppose I’m just excited. I so much enjoyed our daughters’ weddings.’
‘I doubt we’ll make any plans until Harry’s next at home,’ Lizzie said.
‘Very sensible, my dear. It’s a pity you have to return to London today. I could talk about weddings forever.’