Diana knew that nothing, not even Johnathan’s expressly forbidding it, would keep her from such happiness. Two days later she, Nanny and Jamie were on the London train from York, to stay with her mother. Far from forbidding it, Johnathan seemed rather relieved she wasn’t going to be sitting at home on her own while he embarked on a series of talks he was giving to sundry farmers’ unions across the country.
The December issue of Style carried three double-page spreads of girls in the most outrageous party clothes Blanche and Lorelei had been able to find, including one of Diana wearing a simple black silk sheath by Jacques Fath which Blanche had accessorised with a sort of bridal veil also in black. Diana had thrown it back in a pose of extraordinary abandon, and was half laughing in an indisputably and extremely sexy way. Every other girl in the shot faded into the background; it was always said later that it was the photograph that had really launched Diana’s career.
Chapter 19
1951
It was a magnificent speech. Roaring through the Commons in that unmistakable voice, at once so strong and yet so musical, rising and falling like the valleys and hills that had shaped him and his principles and his every belief. The valleys and hills indeed were at the heart of the speech: for this was a small stone, he said, ‘falling down towards a valley that would become an avalanche’.
The items in question were quite modest; spectacles and dentures would entail a small charge. ‘But,’ Bevan thundered, as his audience sat silent. ‘Prescriptions? Hospital charges?’
‘And he finished,’ Tom said to Alice, who was working extremely hard on maintaining her expression of intent excitement, ‘by saying there was only one hope for mankind and that is democratic socialism. And that there is only one party in Great Britain which can do it – and that is the Labour Party. And it was terrible – not only the Tories, but the Labour Party seemed to be against him in the House. They’re even saying now he’s destroyed the Labour Party’s chances in the election. How could that be, when he is so true to them, and their principles?’
‘Tom,’ said Alice gently. ‘Tom, eat your food. It’s getting cold and it’s a bit of a shame, seeing as I spent two hours cooking it.’
‘Sorry,’ said Tom. ‘I’m sorry, Alice, and it is very nice, of course. Very nice. Thank you.’
‘So what do you think will happen to him next?’
‘What, now he’s resigned? I don’t know. He’s still looking after housing, of course. But we may not win the election anyway, and . . .’
Alice tried to suppress a sigh. When Tom was in full flood like this, nothing stopped or even slowed him. She wondered what Laura had done on these occasions. She wondered increasingly about Laura these days, while not wishing to in the least. Indeed, she had done ever since that first rather amazing day two months ago now, in the middle of February, when there had been a message on the noticeboard at the nurses’ home to say Tom Knelston had rung her and could she call him back.
Her first instinct was not to. To ask for her number on New Year’s Eve and to put it to use over six weeks later was hardly morale boosting. Then she suddenly noticed what the date was. She looked at the note saying there were some flowers for Sarah Jane Harding to collect from the kitchen, and thought about the fact that she would be very much alone in the sitting room, and decided that, if only for the one evening, she should swallow her pride and call Tom Knelston back.
She tried to imagine what might have propelled him finally into action. All right, it was Valentine’s Day, but he seemed the opposite of romantic in that sense. She decided she should ring Tom back, however much she would like to play it cool.
He answered straight away, which she found rather encouraging; he was obviously waiting for her to ring. ‘Tom Knelston, hello?’
He did have a very nice voice; it was deep and contained only the slightest burr of Hampshire accent – she liked that burr.
‘Hello, Tom. It’s Alice here. Alice Miller,’ she added, rather unnecessarily.
‘Hello, Alice. How are you? Thank you for ringing.’
‘That’s all right.’
There was a long silence. Alice began to panic. What could she say? The silence grew. She felt herself feeling rather dry in the mouth. This was ridiculous. He’d rung her.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said finally. ‘So sorry, Alice, for not ringing before. It was very rude of me. It’s a long time since New Year’s Day.’
‘Well,’ she said, aware how fatuous she was sounding, ‘not that long.’
‘It is. Six weeks. Six weeks and three days, actually.’
Alice giggled. She couldn’t help it.
‘Well, never mind. I wasn’t counting,’ she added untruthfully. ‘Anyway, you didn’t say you were going to ring.’
‘Didn’t I? I meant to. Well, I told Jillie I would. When I asked her for your number.’
‘And,’ she said, smiling into the phone, ‘and how was I supposed to know that?’
‘Well, of course you weren’t. Anyway, I did mean to. It’s really nice of you to ring me back now. I’m not very good at this sort of thing. I – I just wondered if you’d like to go out one night.’
‘I’d love to, Tom. Thank you.’
‘To the pictures, perhaps? Have you seen Harvey?’
‘No, I haven’t.’
Nor did she want to.
‘We’ll go on Saturday. We could go to one of the Corner Houses for a bite first, if you like. Maybe the one in Piccadilly? At six?’
‘Sounds fine.’
‘Good.’ There was a bit of a silence, and then he said, ‘Goodnight, Alice. And thank you.’
She put the phone down, smiling at it rather foolishly.
She might have been just a little less joyful had she known that what had actually prompted Tom to finally make the phone call was almost – no, entirely – due to Jillie Curtis.
Two evenings earlier, not having seen Jillie since her party, Tom was trudging towards the bus stop through an icy rain, after a particularly frustrating and depressing session at his Citizens’ Advice Bureau surgery in the main Islington library. He’d had them all that evening, all the desperates as he thought of them, each one saddening and enraging him more than the last. People sacked without any real cause, people evicted from flats or rooms which, however unsuitable, provided some kind of home, people with ruthless landlords putting up already extortionate rents, people desperate to get a council house. These people brought Tom closer to disillusion with the government than anything else. They had achieved a lot, but not enough. There were just too many in need. And the housing programme was a particular failure.
That night the world seemed filled with depressed, unfortunate, helpless people; and he was failing them all. He knew he ought to be going to Transport House and checking over some press release to check their legality. But somehow he couldn’t. Maybe he should forget politics, maybe he should concentrate on his career as a lawyer. It could be a more positive, more fulfilling thing to do and he could make some money, feed his self-esteem. Then, as if on cue, supporting the heresy, temptation arrived.
‘Tom! Hello! How lovely to see you. I always forget you belong up here now in the frozen north. Isn’t it freezing?’ It was Jillie, looking pretty and warm in a red coat with a hood, rosy, happy.