A silence ensued; they had obviously decided not to say any more. There was nothing for it but to tough it out. She stood up, knocking the napkin bin again trying to straighten her skirts, realised she couldn’t do it in so small a space, and went out, her pants round her knees, her skirts held aloft.
‘So sorry,’ she said, smiling at them sweetly. ‘Jolly small space, that. If you could just excuse me.’ She pulled her pants up rather ostentatiously, re-fastened one of her suspenders, then started to rearrange her skirts. The women, clearly deciding the situation was irretrievable, smiled at her weakly and disappeared into the lavatories.
Diana washed her hands, powdered her nose, dabbed on generous dollops of Arpège, and left the room, calling out ‘Bye’ as she went.
Back with Leo, she smiled at him sweetly, accepted some more champagne and then said, ‘So, tell me, are you really divorced now?’
‘Not – not quite. Why?’
‘Oh, I just heard two women talking about you in the ladies. Learned a lot. Poor Celia, she’s still very upset, apparently. And as for Baba . . .’
‘Look, Diana, I—’
‘Oh dear –’ she yawned ostentatiously – ‘I’m rather tired, suddenly. I might like to go home. Is that all right?’
‘Well – obviously I’d rather not. But if you’re tired . . .’
‘I really am. Oh, hello.’ Her two new friends were walking back to their table; she waved at them. ‘So – would you mind organising a taxi, sort of straight away? Thank you.’
He insisted on accompanying her in the taxi: sitting in silence beside her, clearly pondering his next move.
Just as they reached the mews, he said rather abruptly, ‘Look – can I come in for a minute or two? I’d like to . . . well, explain.’
‘I’m sorry, Leo. I really am awfully tired and it would take more than a minute or two, don’t you think?’
‘I’m surprised you’re so upset,’ he said after a moment’s silence. ‘Obviously, I have girlfriends. What do you expect, that I’m some kind of celibate, waiting for the next Mrs Bennett to come my way?’
‘Only she wouldn’t be Mrs Bennett. What would she be? Anyway, of course I don’t mind the girlfriends. It’s the wife I take exception to. Not that she exists, that’s fine. But why did you tell me you were divorced? I don’t like being lied to, Leo. Being taken for a fool. I don’t like that one bit. Anyway, thank you for a very nice evening.’
And she got out of the taxi, tottered across the cobbles on her high heels, and went into the house.
Leo looked after her until she had shut the door behind her, trying to work out whether he minded never seeing her again or not. He decided he did mind, quite a lot.
Chapter 61
Diana didn’t take the Sketch, but she did take the Daily News and saw Josh’s article, headed, Principles or Politics? What would you choose?
The piece was generally sympathetic, posing the age-old question about heart and head; but the journalist did finish by saying, For most of us there would be no dilemma, and we would take any dangerously sick child to a private doctor if we could afford it and thought it was in the child’s interests. It is unfortunate for him that Tom Knelston has hitched his wagon to Nye Bevan’s star, and is known to be one of the most passionate disciples of the National Health Service.
Poor Tom: that was the end of his political career, certainly for the foreseeable future.
Alice, who had crept out early to buy the papers, before Kit woke up, was sitting in the room surrounded by them, in a state of panicky misery. A third paper, the Sunday Express, had got the story, heaven knew how, and was thundering self-righteously about hypocrisy, clearly delighted to have caught another Labour man out: Ironically, Tom Knelston was once described as the heir to Aneurin Bevan, the paper stated. The headline, ‘What Price Principles, Mr Knelston?, was only the beginning of a long tirade. This was illustrated with a picture of her – goodness knows how they’d got hold of it, she thought, taken years ago, looking very young and pretty in her St Thomas’ uniform, Nightingale cap and all. Alice Knelston, the caption said, trained at one of London’s top teaching hospitals, where many of the girls are ex-debutantes.
Somehow, in spite of all her angry, scornful words, Alice hadn’t expected it to happen; hadn’t thought Tom was important enough for his actions to merit such a lambasting, had seen it as all part of his arrogance. Now, staring at the headlines, she felt a pang of sympathy. Not remorse – to her the situation was still clear-cut, she had been acting for Kit, and had probably saved his life – but the whole business had probably seen off the political success that Tom had worked so hard for.
Josh had been right; Tom, looking cautiously out of the bedroom window at six o’clock, saw a gathering of about half a dozen men and one woman in front of his house. He pulled the curtains more closely together, and leaned against the wall. Now what did he do? It was all very well Josh telling him not to go out but he really must go down to Purbridge, do whatever troubleshooting he could. Besides, it looked cowardly and an admission of guilt.
He felt worried about Mrs Hartley, too, whether she would be nervous of the press: although it was hard to imagine Mrs Hartley being nervous of anyone. And he needed to ask her to have the children for the day if he was going to Purbridge. The Hartleys had no phone and the only way into the house, apart from the front door, was via the side passage to their back door. Charlie was now crying for a bottle. He would have to go down and the kitchen was in the front of the house; he could easily be seen.
Sure enough, one of the crowd saw him and there was a surge down the front path, and a steady press on the bell. Upstairs, Lucy woke up and started crying, and Charlie screamed more loudly still. Angry suddenly, Tom picked him up and opened the door. Several flashbulbs went off.
‘Mr Knelston, how’s your little boy this morning?’ ‘Mr Knelston, can I have a word?’ ‘Any idea what your constituents will have to say about this, Mr Knelston?’
‘Would you all just go away, PLEASE!’ shouted Tom, shaking with rage and, he had to admit, fear as well. ‘You’ve woken and frightened both my children. I would appreciate some peace and quiet while I settle them, and I have nothing to say to you, whatsoever.’
He slammed the front door shut, carried Charlie and his bottle upstairs to Lucy’s room, and, having comforted her as best he could, wondered what on earth he was going to do. It was exactly like being under siege; he was trapped, well and truly.
He looked down into the back garden; the fence dividing it from the Hartleys was only waist-high. He could shin over that. They must be awake by now, poor things: on a Sunday morning, too, when Mr Hartley, who worked long shifts at the local canning factory, had his only lie-in of the week.