He really didn’t like the way she talked about looking for things. It belittled what he did dreadfully, the painstaking following up of trails, the hunts through catalogues. Everyone thought he was the dominant one in the relationship, and everyone thought wrong. Nell was very much in charge; she had a temper and he was actually rather frightened of her when it was aroused. She also had a gift for making him see things from her point of view, so that suddenly he felt bad for being there and having nothing to do but read when she was so busy. But it was Sunday, the only day he had to himself, when the little shop in the King’s Road was closed. It was very nice once a week to just relax and read the papers, and try not to think about any of it. But this particular Sunday that was clearly not to be; Nell had her synopsis to write, and that was what mattered. He dropped a kiss on the top of her head, said he’d see her later, and went out to his car.
Julius Noble the third, as he was known in his rather dynastic family, was a gentle soul, just thirty and extremely clever. He had been an Eton scholar, and left Oxford with a double first in Greats and very little idea what he might do next. His father, Julius the second, had died of tuberculosis when Julius was only seventeen, leaving a vast fortune, inherited initially from his father, made from the manufacture of arms in the First World War, but later converted, with considerable entrepreneurial skill, to the manufacture of engineering tools, in particular for the burgeoning post-war housing industry. Julius entered Oxford therefore a millionaire many times over; he was saved from exploitation there by the simple fact that he had no idea of it. His uncle, terrified of the money being wasted, had set up a complex series of trusts, which allowed Julius a modest income; any requests for more had to be put first to him and thence to one of a range of trustees. He was allowed his first capital sum, a modest five hundred thousand pounds, at the age of twenty-one, his first million at twenty-five, and two more at thirty. A considerable sum was still held by the trustees and would be released on his marriage with further instalments upon the birth of each child.
The least avaricious of people, he had bought an extremely pretty but modest Victorian stucco-faced house in St John’s Wood, which he had enjoyed furnishing so much that it had led to his present career in antiques. He owned a rather large and splendid pre-war Bentley (he did like cars) and a small but well-powered Morris for zipping about town. But he had shown no interest in the things his uncle had so feared; horse racing left him unmoved, gambling bored, and all three of his serious girlfriends had been well-brought-up, well-behaved young women, who he liked to take to nice restaurants and buy pretty things for – jewellery, silk scarves and for Nell, a rather spectacular diamond ring. Nell was, of course, aware of his wealth, but she came from an old banking family and looked for no more than being kept in the considerably comfortable manner to which she was accustomed.
Julius’s only real extravagance was his wardrobe; he loved clothes and regarded them, in their most expensive and stylish form, as a necessity; most of the top floor of his house was given over to them. Racks of suits, rails of shirts, piles of sweaters, stacks of shoes, all handmade, not to mention belts, scarves and hats, filled what would have made a very adequate flat. He would sometimes wander among it all, reminding himself what was there, making notes of what he might buy or how he might add to them.
Today, even this held no charm for him; especially as Nell was inclined to mock his collection, saying it was really not very manly. She did dress quite interestingly herself, and lived in a little house in Kensington; not far, Julius realised, as he drove home, from where Jillie Curtis had entertained them so graciously a few weeks ago. He had been rather fascinated by Jillie; she wasn’t exactly beautiful, but she had wonderful bones, he had thought, and he liked her voice, which was light and rather musical. There was a slight sadness about her which intrigued him and had stayed with him. He had felt too the emotion that had come between them, indefinable, unexpected. But Nell was of a jealous disposition, and since he had been with her, he had never allowed himself even to seem interested in another woman, even to admire a film star or actress. He loved Nell; she was clever and amusing and passionate and, while not beautiful, very pretty. Most of the time she was just about sufficiently interested in and impressed by his work; for the rest, he told himself, nobody was perfect.
He must ask Josh if Jillie had found a permanent job yet; the least they could do, in return for her help, was congratulate her if she had. Once home, he rang Josh, and when he heard that she was working in Hackney, wrote her a short note in his florid handwriting, congratulating her, and saying how much he hoped they could all meet again soon. But whether Nell was there or not, he wanted to see Jillie again, of that he was sure.
Alice knew at once something had happened. Tom sounded different, charged somehow. He came into the house and called to her, his voice compelling. It was early, the children had not yet had their tea, and the place was in chaos. He ignored it and walked into the living room, making a pathway through half-built bridges, knocked-down castles, overturned trains, and sank into the large, lumpy easy chair that was so surprisingly comfortable.
‘Hello,’ he said and smiled at her.
It was a long time since he had come home and seemed pleased to be there. In the forced cheerfulness, the uneasy peace that they had lived in for months now, he had simply walked into the house, hung up his coat, kissed her briefly and gone straight into his domestic tasks, with neither enthusiasm nor complaint.
‘Hello,’ said Alice. ‘Sorry about the mess. You’re early, I didn’t—’
‘Oh, never mind the mess,’ he said. ‘Yes, I am early. I’ve had the most extraordinary afternoon.’
‘Really? What?’
‘I was in the House,’ Tom said. ‘I’d been sorry to miss yesterday when there was the launch of the debate, between the parties. On the question of the nuclear deterrent. You know that’s Bevan’s great cause now, or rather what we do about it.’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Alice, thinking of the thousands of things Tom had told her about the nuclear debate in the preceding months and how little proper notice she had taken of the most burning issue of the age.
‘Yesterday, Churchill spoke, and I would have loved to have heard him. He can’t make many more speeches and much as I loathe his politics, we both know what he did for the country in the war and how revering him is somehow in our bones.
‘Apparently though, the speech was not particularly good; and today was the official opposition debate. And Bevan spoke, and Alice, he was magnificent. I wrote down several phrases, but listen to this: “Neither the scientists nor the military men have an answer to the problems of the world. It is now time for a little more wisdom.” Alice, he was so wonderful.