The earnest woman ignored him.
‘Even out of context, it shows a certain lack of concern for us. We need one hundred per cent support here. Life isn’t easy, the schools are in need of investment, the housing lists are long . . .’
‘I’d like to say something about schools and Mr Knelston’s concern for them.’ The voice came from the very back of the hall. ‘Mr Knelston has been wonderfully supportive in that way. He’s been to two prize-givings at my boy’s school alone, and he’s a governor at the grammar school, gives up a lot of his time. I’d say his commitment overall is impressive.’
And so it went on until they’d finished. The room emptied slowly; plaid shirt was one of the first to go, muttering under his breath. One of the reporters had left, but the other came and asked Tom if he would have done anything differently, faced with the same dilemma again.
‘Yes, I would,’ Tom said. ‘With considerable misgivings, which I experienced anyway. But my son’s life was at stake. I ask you, as I’ve asked so many people, what would you have done?’
The reporter said nothing.
They walked back to Labour HQ. ‘That was very well done,’ said Colin. ‘Thank you. Sorry it was so tough.’
‘Do you know,’ said Tom, ‘I rather enjoyed it.’
Chapter 62
Julius always knew when he was seriously upset: he went off coffee. Instead of deliciously rich, it tasted bitter and heavy and nauseating. He sat and stared at the large cup of it he had just made, and after one sip, carried it over to the sink and poured it away, watching it, too miserable even to move.
What could he do? It was ridiculous, really, to overreact like this to Nell’s increasingly high-handed, almost dismal behaviour. He had always known that Nell had her own life, and she would continue to do so. He couldn’t imagine anything worse than having a wife who simply kept house and bought clothes and gave dinner parties. Jillie had an important career, of course – no, Julius, don’t start thinking about Jillie. She belonged in the past – this awful, sickly, coffee-tainted misery was about Nell, not Jillie. Although exactly what about her was making him miserable, he couldn’t quite work out.
He decided to go for a drive; driving always helped him to think. He climbed into the Bentley and set off southwards across London, down through Regent’s Park; winding down his window as he always did, the better to hear the strange medley of noises coming from the zoo, the roars and high-pitched screeches.
It was a beautiful day and he had no idea where he was going, but found himself driving across Putney Bridge, and thence onto the A30, and eventually into Guildford and then out again up onto the Hog’s Back: where he stopped with a lurch of his heart, for it was one of the Sunday drives he had done with Jillie, and he had managed to park in almost exactly the same place.
He suddenly saw Jillie absolutely clearly, her long straight brown hair, her green eyes, her narrow face with its high cheekbones, her slender body. He could hear her now too, her light, very clear voice, her delicious laugh. God, Julius, just stop it, you’re hallucinating, get back to reality – you need to see Nell, actually see her, remind yourself about her. You’re going to marry Nell, you want to marry Nell – yes, you do. He got back into the car, turned it round and retraced his steps, made for Nell’s house in Kensington.
‘Diana, it’s me. Leo Bennett.’
‘Ah! Would that be the Leo Bennett, three times divorced, no current girlfriend – married, devoted girlfriend presently sobbing into her lace-trimmed hanky?’
‘Diana—’
‘Because I have absolutely no interest in the latter, I’m so sorry.’
She put the phone down; it rang again immediately.
‘Leo, you must be either deaf or very stupid.’
‘I’m not deaf, but possibly – probably – very stupid. Look – could I come and see you later, say around six? I really can explain. And I so want to see you. Oh, and Celia doesn’t have any lace-trimmed hankies. Just embroidered.’
It was that last that made her relent. He was funny and she liked funny men. Maybe there was some kind of satisfactory explanation – although it was hard to think what.
‘All right. Make it six thirty, though, I’m going out for lunch.’
This was quite untrue, but what kind of girl had absolutely nothing to do on a Sunday? A boring one. And then she thought that if she was concerned that Leo might consider her boring, she must fancy him a little at least . . .
‘I’ve had the most marvellous piece of news,’ said Ned. His mother had phoned to say she was coming up to London the following week; having said that, there was a hopeful silence, which meant, he knew, that she was hoping to be invited to meet his new friend. And what an inadequate description that was for the person who had turned his life around, made him happier than he would ever have dreamed.
He determinedly ignored the silence, or rather its message. ‘It’s all through Jillie, really,’ he said. ‘We’ve managed to become friends again and her uncle is a chief consultant in obstetrics, as you know.’
‘And . . .?’
‘Jillie saw him yesterday, and told him I’d resigned from St Luke’s, and why, and about my campaign to have the mothers in the wards and he mentioned they had a vacancy for a consultant paediatrician, and he and various other doctors had been discussing the care of children in hospital and holding a conference on the subject. I’ve got to go and meet him, of course, but it looks as if there could be a happy ending to all this – including for the children.’
‘Darling, I’m delighted for you,’ said Persephone. ‘Delighted and proud. Well, you deserve it, you’ve been so brave about everything. Let’s hope that from now on everything’s going to be much easier for you. Now, darling—’
‘Mother, I’m sorry, I’ve got to go. I’m already late for my clinic . . .’
Persephone sighed as she put down the phone. She was so longing to meet this young man, whoever he was. Well, she supposed it would happen some time . . .
Patrick had arrived back in London earlier than he expected and decided that he really wanted to see Jillie. He felt that with increasing frequency. He rang from a call box on Euston Station to see if she was home; she wasn’t, but her mother assured him she soon would be; she’d gone to see a friend in hospital, but had said she would be back in time for lunch. Patrick looked at the station clock and saw that it was half past three; Geraldine Curtis said half apologetically they always had lunch at four at the earliest on Sundays and asked if he would like to join them.
Patrick said that would be very nice and hurried to the taxi rank and a very long queue.