‘What?’
‘That you should be considering having your baby in some hospital where, should you go there, it would mean pulling strings, jumping the queue, in a way I couldn’t possibly condone. Surely you can see that would be totally against the principles of the National Health Service? I couldn’t possibly allow it.’
‘Oh, is that so?’ said Laura. ‘You wouldn’t allow it? And what right do you have, Tom Knelston, to allow or not allow me to have my baby at one of the best hospitals in England?’
‘I’m its father,’ he said. ‘And that gives me the right.’
‘It does no such thing. And you,’ she added, ‘should just listen to yourself. You get more and more like your own father every day.’
‘Laura, it’s just not right.’
‘If it’s right for our baby, it’s right,’ said Laura firmly. ‘And I will be the judge of that. You may have an extensive knowledge of the law, Tom, but you have none of obstetrics, as far as I know. Now, I have work to do.’
But even as she shut herself in the bedroom and threw a couple of Tom’s books at the wall, she knew he was right. She should not be taking the place of some woman who had a right to it; on the other hand, if it did give her a better chance of delivering a healthy baby, she felt she should take it. She finally decided to see what the antenatal clinic had to say, how familiar they were with the process of cerclage. If she felt they were competent she would stay with them. But she would not be told whether or not to do so by her husband.
Diana looked at Wendelien across Victor Stiebel’s salon, with a kind of desperation in her eyes.
‘Oh, Wendelien, this is all so wonderful,’ she said and burst into tears.
‘Darling, darling Diana, why are you crying then?’
‘You know as well as I do.’
She had come down to London to purchase an outfit for her brother Michael’s wedding: a blessed break from the flat dullness of her life in Yorkshire.
‘Of course I do. Well, I did tell you not to go up there.’
‘It was hardly sound advice,’ said Diana fretfully.
‘If you’d followed it, you’d be much happier now.’
‘Maybe. Only I wouldn’t have Jamie; he almost makes it all worthwhile.’
‘Only almost?’
‘Well, no, completely. I couldn’t imagine life without him. And Johnathan – well, he is so sweet and he loves me very much. So I’m lucky, aren’t I?’
‘No,’ said Wendelien, ‘you’re not. Well, only a bit. Other people have babies and husbands and enjoy their lives as well. And don’t have wicked witches to contend with. Is she really no better?’
‘Worse. Hates me. Won’t let me help, won’t let me do anything. Johnathan just can’t see the problem. Says I’m making a marvellous job of it all. You know, I’m President of the WI now and—’
‘Goodness,’ said Wendelien.
‘Oh, shut up. And I’m on the committee of the Royal South Yorkshire show.’
‘Who’s in charge?’
‘Guess. And Johnathan’s Deputy Lord Lieutenant of the county now, and there’s a lot of stuff to do with that. I could become a school governor, if I wanted. Last week, he asked me if I thought I’d like to learn about sheep. You know. Four-legged, woolly things. ‘
‘What is there to learn about them?’
‘Oh, all the different breeds, and so on. He’s thinking of introducing a new breed and he suggested I might like to investigate that, take responsibility for it even.’
‘Diana,’ said Wendelien firmly, ‘you cannot spend the rest of your life introducing sheep to one another.’
Diana giggled, then suddenly burst into tears. ‘Don’t mock me. It’s all I’ve got.’
‘I know, and it’s not enough.’
‘And now he’s talking about a little brother or sister for Jamie. If he says once more how jolly that would be I’ll scream.’
‘Right,’ said Wendelien. ‘That does it. We have to act fast. Before you get preggers again.’
‘It’s not terribly likely,’ said Diana. ‘He’s always so tired.’
‘Well, that’s something. Now stop crying, and I’ll think of something. He will be coming up for the wedding, I presume?’
‘Yes, of course. Mummy and Daddy have asked the wicked witch and Sir Hilary obviously, but I don’t think they’ll come. He is more and more lost to us, completely batty really, so she couldn’t bring him and I don’t see how she could leave him.’
‘Oh, I do hope she does come,’ said Wendelien. ‘I’ll have a few words to say to her.’
‘Wendelien, don’t even joke about it.’
‘I’m not. Now come on, are we settled on the blue? What about the hat? Shall we get it here, or look further afield? You know who dresses here quite a lot, don’t you? Moira Shearer – you know, the divine redheaded ballerina. God, she’s beautiful. Have you seen The Red Shoes, her film?’
‘No, of course I haven’t,’ said Diana irritably. ‘The only thing I’ve seen for months is the local dramatic society’s performance of Private Lives. It was frightful.’
‘Sorry. Anyway, Victor was saying something about Vogue being here the other day, choosing dresses for her.’
‘Oh, dear, don’t tell me any more. You are so lucky, Wendelien, you’ve just no idea.’
‘Well, it beats introducing sheep,’ said Wendelien. ‘That’s for sure.’
Laura looked so lovely, Tom thought; with her ripe, full belly, her skin more peach-like, her curls shinier. She was seven months pregnant now, justifying the torture she had endured at the Elizabeth Garrett Anderson Hospital, although it had left emotional scars. She had decided, after some exhaustive questioning, to remain at Hilchester General, but she took her time telling Tom. He had a long way to go yet, she feared, before understanding the place of the modern husband.
It had been a lovely summer, and since temporarily leaving St Joesph’s, she had spent as much time as she could sitting in the sunshine either in the local park, or in her sister’s garden, where she went more than once to stay for a few days.
She was serious about going back to teaching; though she had promised to see how she felt when Miss or Master Knelston arrived. Tom was very keen for her to devote herself entirely to the baby, and then to several more besides. Asked by Laura how he thought he would support this new, large family, and indeed where he would house them, he said that Mr Pemberton had already promised him a substantial raise, and had hinted at a loan that would enable them to put down a deposit on a little cottage on the outskirts of Hilchester.
‘I didn’t like to ask quite how much,’ he said to Laura, ‘but he seemed to be talking about a hundred pounds. Which would be about a quarter of the price. The rest we should be able to get a mortgage on. Imagine us, Laura, owning a house.’