‘Oh, my goodness,’ said Jillie. ‘What a lovely thing. I feel I should be better dressed to deserve it! Look at me, poor Cinderella, I shall go and change.’
‘Quite unnecessary,’ said Julius gallantly, for he was dressed with storm coat, leather helmet and high boots over his cream trousers. ‘You look wonderful.’ Adding, ‘You always do,’ which made her feel as if Cinderella had arrived at the ball. Nevertheless she fetched her own greatcoat, and wound a scarf round her head, leaving the ends trailing down her back. ‘Careful,’ warned Julius. ‘We don’t want any Isadora-style accidents today.’
‘I will be. But it’s not a convertible, is it? Or should I say she? A great ship of a car like this one should surely be a female. Now my parents are out, or my mother would have thanked you for the dressing table.’
‘Nothing to do with me. What did she make of it?’
‘Oh, she loved it,’ said Jillie, ‘but it was too small.’
This was quite untrue; her mother hadn’t even seen the small dressing table shrouded in its dust sheet in the garage, next to the Mercedes. If she had, she would think Jillie had taken leave of her senses. Which, Jillie thought, half sadly, half amused, was exactly what she had done. She had looked at Julius and shaken his hand, and sense had just gone in one breath, leaving her senseless, stupid with – what? Not love, of course, she had learned her lesson on that one, on love at first sight. That was what she had felt for Ned, love had flown into the room and settled on her and him; and how foolish, when one knew nothing of a person – absolutely nothing of the most important things. She knew nothing of Julius either, and so clearly this was quite, quite different; she just thought he was very – interesting. And attractive. And had dark eyes like Ned’s and a sense of style like Ned and that was all it was about really, they were a type, her type. It had been a lovely drive; out onto the heath, towards Highgate, and they had a drink in a pub there, and thus on, further than they had realised for lunch at another pub, so engaged were they with one another, talking and laughing and enjoying the day. It wasn’t until it suddenly seemed to be growing dark that Julius said, ‘Oh, my goodness, I shall have to switch the lights on, and then I think we should be going back. And we haven’t had any lunch. I meant to buy us a splendid feast. I’m so sorry, you must be starving. Next week I’ll get Mrs W to make us a picnic, she’s awfully good at them.’
‘Who is Mrs W?’
‘My housekeeper.’
‘Ah.’
Clearly, she thought, a man of means: owning a car like this as a plaything was not usual in young men, and there wasn’t a great deal of money to be had from antiques, surely.
The next Sunday it was her turn, and she turned the Austin southwards, down to Richmond and the park; where they found the Pen Ponds, twin lakes housing an amazing assortment of birds and he leapt out of the car and said, ‘Right, here we are,’ and took out the picnic hamper he’d stowed in the boot. Such wonders it contained, almost Dickensian in its bounty, half a ham, a chicken pie, cold pickles, a freshly baked loaf (only just cool), some wonderful cheddar cheese and then for dessert, a peach tart.
‘My goodness, we could feed the five thousand with this,’ Jillie said.
‘I know, Mrs W takes the feeding of me very seriously. Now look, the sun is shining. We could carry the basket right down to the lake, and eat there, I see a seat. Would you risk the cold?’
‘I would risk anything,’ she almost said, but managed to say just ‘it’ instead, adding that it would give them an appetite, and they sat in the sunshine, tossing fine scraps at the swans and ducks, and then they went for a stroll and then again, before they knew it, it was growing dusk and they had to drive home. He stayed for supper and met her parents, who were clearly absolutely charmed by him, and when he had gone her mother said, ‘Darling, what a delightful young man.’
Jillie knew what she meant, which was ‘what a suitable young man’. She explained that actually Julius was engaged to somebody who was writing a book on Sundays and was just a friend, no more, whereupon her mother said, ‘Ah. I see. But – darling, don’t get hurt again . . .’
‘Mummy,’ said Jillie, ‘there’s no question of my getting hurt. He’s just a friend, I told you.’
‘Who clearly admires you very much,’ said Mrs Curtis briskly.
It was on the fourth Sunday that it happened. They had been in the Bentley, taking it for its own outing to Richmond, when Julius, having parked, suddenly said, ‘Look, the Sunday after next there’s a vintage car rally in the wilds of the Surrey-Hampshire border. Bit like the Old Crocks Run. I’ve got the Bentley’s name down, so to speak – would you like to come with me? I’ve asked Nell, but she’s too busy. I’d love to have some company – would you do me the great kindness of coming with me?’
‘Oh!’ said Jillie, and it was as if someone had handed her a priceless gift (which in a way they had). ‘Oh, Julius, I’d love to.’
‘I’ll pick you up. It starts quite early – seven in Richmond.’
‘Shall I dress up? Mummy’s still got the outfit she used to wear for the Old Crocks – I could borrow that. Hat and all.’
‘Wonderful.’
Was she mad? She was mad. Quite, quite, and very immorally mad.
She went up to her room and sat down at her dressing table, staring into the mirror: wondering if her wickedness showed on her face. It didn’t seem to. Her face didn’t seem to have gained any evil lines or twists; extraordinary that it should not have, but then the whole thing was extraordinary, this half-formed, half-acknowledged, totally impossible thing. What was Julius, newly engaged, thinking about? He could submit so cheerfully to banishment from his fiancée every Sunday and not only submit to it, but condone it? And what was she doing, acquiescing to it, allowing herself to enjoy it? When the one thing she knew, knew with certainty, was that she would not be instrumental in breaking up an engagement.
Chapter 46
Tom looked at Donald Herbert and tried to analyse what he felt. None of it nice: a bit sick, shocked, scared, and yes, disillusioned. That was almost the worst. Actually, he felt most of these things most of the time these days; his life, once so hopeful, so happy, so under control, had become a quagmire, where nothing was as he had thought, nothing as it had seemed.
He had believed so fervently in the beginning, in the early days, in the power of politics to right wrongs, rectify injustices, level inequalities; its practitioners, like-minded, idealistic people, using that power wisely and well. Gradually, he had come to see it was not like that at all, that the very people able to achieve the most for others wanted to achieve things also for themselves and were the best placed to do so: and that power did indeed tend to corrupt, and absolute power corrupted absolutely.