‘How – how old is he?’ said Tom. All he could see was the top of a head and a tiny hand that had been waving about in its hunger and now entirely relaxed.
‘Ten days. He really is heaven, so good. So sad that Johnathan – that’s my husband – hasn’t seen him, and can’t for ages yet, probably. He’s in Yorkshire, where we live. It’s terribly different from here. It’s so cold, freezing cold, even in the summer sometimes, and people say the scenery’s lovely, and I suppose it is, but it’s awfully wild and bleak. And pretty remote really, where we live. Miles from the nearest town, which is Harrogate, and that’s a bit of a dump.’
‘And what does your husband do?’ asked Tom curiously. It didn’t sound the sort of place he would have expected Diana to have chosen to live.
‘Oh, he runs the estate,’ said Diana. ‘He and his mother. His father’s really not up to much these days – the war took its toll, their eldest son was killed. So Johnathan gave up his job in London, and went up there. And of course I went with him.’ She sighed almost imperceptibly and looked down at the baby, who was now sleeping peacefully, the bottle drained. ‘We’ll go back when the snow has gone, won’t we, Jamie? But not till then.’
‘Do you like it up there? Living in that wild place?’ asked Tom, and he knew the question was not one he should have asked. She met his eyes with her great dark ones and for a moment he thought she was going to berate him, but she said, ‘No, actually. Since you ask – and you are not to tell anyone, of course – I hate it. Absolutely hate it.’
It was an extraordinary confidence to exchange with someone she scarcely knew, who was moreover her social inferior, and it was years before Tom understood why she had done it. It was to create an intimacy, a bond between them, that she should entrust him with this confidence, knowing that he would keep it for her; and also that she was so clearly anxious that he should know she hated it, that she was not happy with her new life.
He sat there, taking it all in, and taking her in too, so very beautiful, still pale and clearly tired by the birth of her son, but softened too, less arrogant, her figure slightly more rounded, her arms holding the baby so surprisingly gentle and confident, where he would not have expected her to be either. And then she smiled, and said, ‘It’s very nice to be able to talk to you, Tom. How are you feeling now? Oh look, Mummy’s brought your tea and some for me, too. Come and join us, Mummy, why don’t you?’ showing Tom that the intimate part of their conversation was over, and that she trusted him entirely not to reveal any of it.
Lady Southcott said she would, adding that Rawlings had returned and Dr Parker would be up shortly.
‘I believe you are married, Mr Knelston? To a schoolteacher, I think your mother said.’ Tom said yes, he was, and began to talk about Laura, and that made him miss her so much that combined with his pain and the brandy he found himself close to tears.
Dr Parker fortunately arrived, examined the ankle, and said it wasn’t broken, just very badly sprained. He would strap it up and Tom must rest it for at least a week.
‘Only I can see that might be difficult in the cottage – you haven’t got a proper bed, have you? I remember when I called . . .’
Tom said one of his sisters would be able to offer him a room, and that he hadn’t left before because of wanting to be with his mother; and that one of his brothers-in-law and one of his brothers should between them be able to get him home, while wondering precisely how, until Lady Southcott said that their wood cart would make a splendid stretcher on wheels if Tom wouldn’t mind. And would he like Rawlings to go down to their respective cottages to summon them?
Tom waited patiently while help was organised, and he watched Diana as she chatted and laughed and winded the baby; Diana with her gleaming dark beauty, and her slightly low-pitched voice with its perfectly honed, clipped accent and her perfect legs, those at least unsullied by childbearing, crossing and uncrossing themselves as she shifted in her chair to re-settle the baby. And seeing, and not being able to help noticing, that those eyes, those incredible dark eyes, quite often and unmistakably met his very directly, in a sort of openness that he did not even dare to reflect upon, while being aware that Lady Southcott’s presence was very strong and her eyes on her daughter very intent. Then he took a deep breath, literally, and said he did hope they would not consider he was asking too much of them, but might it be possible to borrow a book? He had nothing to read and there was nothing in his parents’ house or his sisters’ of any interest to him whatsoever, and the days were going to be very long, and Diana said of course he must borrow a book, more than one, and what sort of book would he like to read, fiction or biography or what, and what were his interests, and he said politics, particularly, but really anything, anything at all.
‘Politics!’ said Lady Southcott, and her voice was much cooler than it had been before. Tom wondered if he had gone too far, asking to borrow a book. ‘How interesting. What do you think of this dreadful new Labour government, poor Mr Churchill being thrown out after he saved the country, almost single-handed at one point.’
Tom sat silent, flushed, partly by emotion, partly by the fire and the brandy, wondering desperately whether he should lie and betray his principles or speak the truth and quite probably find himself thrown out in the snow. Diana jumped up, placing the baby in his grandmother’s arms, and said, going over to the bookshelves further down the room, ‘Have you ever read any Trollope? I haven’t, of course –’ she gave him a slightly shamefaced smile – ‘but Johnathan absolutely loves them, the Palliser novels. They’re just the thing for you and we have a complete set, so take the first two, and then come and change them for the next two if you finish them; just think of us as a library.’
Tom, touched and surprised beyond anything that she should read his needs so well, took the two books she handed him and gazed at them, at the treasure they represented, and thanked her.
Lady Southcott said, rather briskly, that she thought the baby’s nappy needed changing, and gave him firmly to Diana. Diana, with an odd look at her mother, said yes, of course, and if the rescue party came for Tom before she came back, she had been so delighted to meet him again, and wished him a swift recovery. Then she was gone and the room died a little – some of its charm, some of its beauty, faded – and the boys arrived to take him to Jess’s house, bearing a waterproof horse blanket to cover Tom and protect him from the snow which was falling relentlessly once again.