‘He’s been very down ever since, Tom, can’t seem to come to terms with it, and Mrs Pemberton’s been quite ill with it, so that must be dreadful for him too.’
‘I’m sure it is,’ said Tom, ‘and don’t think I don’t feel really sorry for him, Laura – he was so proud of Nigel, and he was going to take over the business, of course.’
‘Yes, I know, you’ve told me many times,’ said Laura, taking off her hat and looking at him. She found Tom’s admiration for Mr Pemberton and his unquestioning acceptance that Nigel should automatically inherit the business hugely irritating.
‘Laura, he’d been shot and they didn’t hear for several weeks, imagine how dreadful—’
‘Happens to everybody,’ said Laura briskly.
‘Yes, I know but . . . There was a letter from his commanding officer, saying all the usual things, praising Nigel’s courage and his leadership qualities, and assuring them that he had died instantly. He asked me what I thought about that,’ Tom added, ‘if it was true. He said I’d know, having been in the army, if they all said that. I hadn’t an idea, of course, but I said I was sure it was. True, I mean.’
‘That was the right thing to say,’ said Laura.
‘I hope so. “I’ve found it very difficult to bear, Tom,” he said. “At times, I – well, never mind.” I knew what he meant – he’d wanted to die himself. And he said, and this was the worst thing, that he’d loved him, more than he’d ever loved anyone. And now he’d gone, the world seemed very empty. Empty and dark, he said. It was so dreadful, Laura, so sad.
‘Then he said he wanted to help me as much as he could with passing my article exams and then maybe one day – well, he said, “I’m very fond of you, Tom. I always have been.” And then he said that with Nigel gone, and no one else to take his place, if I worked really hard and I became a partner – a partner, me! – who knows what might happen? “I’m not young any more,” he said, and then he stopped talking and I don’t even dare think what he might have meant.’
‘Well, I do,’ said Laura. ‘He was saying he saw you as his heir. And quite right too. Why not?’
‘Anyway,’ Tom said. ‘I feel pretty overwhelmed by what he’s doing for me already. Especially while he’s so unhappy.’
‘Well,’ said Laura slowly, after considering this, ‘I think you’ll make him feel less unhappy. Which is a wonderful thing.’
‘But what this is all leading up to is, Laura Leonard, I can now properly ask you to marry me. Why are you laughing?’
‘Because you’re so ridiculous. I’m marrying you anyway. You’ve already asked me, unless I was dreaming and this ring is some kind of apparition.’
‘Yes, but I can ask you to marry me now, at once! We can set a date, and I thought New Year’s Day – it would make a good start to the year – or as near as we can get. What do you say?’
‘I say,’ said Laura, ‘could we just leave that lovely stew stewing, and that cider getting colder, and could we pop next door to the bedroom just for a bit before supper, so I can show you how wonderful I think you are?’
Diana had finally found a solution to her boredom and sense of uselessness during the war; she wasn’t particularly proud of it, but it was the best she could manage. Johnathan had forbidden so many of the things she would have been prepared to do – but she still felt profoundly guilty at her lack of contribution. One of her friends – those drawn from the Johnathan circle as she thought of them – a chic sparky beauty called Wendelien Bellinger (‘You pronounce it like Gwendolyn without the G’) had set up a fortnightly event at her house in Knightsbridge, which she called a Bring and Give. ‘It’s sort of like a Bring and Buy, in that we collect all sorts of stuff – clothes, obviously, and blankets, but also books, gramophone records – from people we know mostly, and bring it all here, and then instead of selling it, we take it to people like the WVS Canteens, and the church shelters and so on. You get to see all your chums and have a really jolly afternoon, and it’s amazing what we persuade people to part with.’
Diana said she thought Wendelien could have persuaded the chief Beefeater at the Tower to part with the Crown Jewels if she’d put her mind to it.
‘Sweet of you to say so, but it really isn’t that difficult. The only rule is, we’re not allowed to keep anything for ourselves. Absolute agony I went through last week when Tilly Browning brought in the most gorgeous Jacques Fath coat; I longed to keep it, it really suited me, but of course that would be awfully bad form. Anyway, if you think you’d like to help, it would mean coming up to London once a fortnight. It’s not so dangerous any more, and we haven’t got anyone in your area so you’re bound to pick up lots of lovely stuff . . .’
Diana, who found the thought of getting up to London regularly exciting, said she would love to. And indeed, her life changed for ever; not only did she do rather well at the Bringing and Giving, as Wendelien had prophesied, but she also became part of her inner circle.
Anyone reading Wendelien’s pocket diary, which was so packed as to be almost illegible, would have found it hard to believe it was being lived out against a background of one of the most appalling wars in history. Dinners and cocktail dates were recorded nightly at the smartest of venues; even more surprisingly, most of the main London couturiers were open for business, encouraged to form an association by the Board of Trade. Wendelien took the bemused Diana on a round one afternoon, of Molyneux, Digby Morton, Norman Hartnell and Worth. Diana, who had been wearing her old clothes for three years, hardly daring to buy so much as a pair of gloves, found temptation beyond endurance there and ordered a suit from Digby Morton.
Wendelien absolutely refused to move from her pretty little house in Knightsbridge. ‘I would die if I had to leave it and move to some deathly dull suburb, so I might as well be bumped off by a bomb.’
In spite of her rather flippant protestations, she did display considerable bravery. Her street took a direct hit one night, and most of the surviving residents had moved away, including her neighbours on either side. She remained firm, taking Vogue’s advice at the time to offer baths, rather than drinks: Soap and water are a far more pleasing offer than any amount of gin.
‘I made lots of new friends – you’d be surprised,’ she said to Diana, who wasn’t at all.
Wendelien’s adored and extremely handsome husband was commander of a destroyer in the North Atlantic and living in extreme danger. ‘And there’s another reason, you see,’ Wendelien would say. ‘If he gets killed – and let’s face it, it is quite likely – I certainly don’t want to be left without him, so there’s another reason for taking on the bombers. I just know if I did move to the country, his ship would be torpedoed straight away. So much better to stay here, don’t you see? And at least I’m having fun, and don’t spend all my time with nothing to do except worry.’