It was hardly a whirlwind romance, Alice reflected. It was some months now that they had been going out. They were both so busy, Tom with his politics – one election the year before, which his party, as she thought of the Labour Party, had won by a hair’s breadth, and another coming up in October. She, with her nursing, and its strict schedules and endless studying to be done most evenings.
Tom worked so hard for the party – she wished she cared about it, as Laura clearly had. It was so important to him, it really did govern his life. Her concerns were more personal and romantic (until of course it came to her nursing which she cared very passionately about). She feared she was far too frivolous altogether for Tom, and spent much of their time together making a huge effort to appear more serious.
‘I just feel so inadequate,’ Alice wailed to Jillie, ‘trying to match up to her, to the wonderful Laura. I absolutely hate her – isn’t that awful? I just feel she’s there all the time, cleverer than me, more beautiful, a better cook, a more worthy person altogether.’
‘Alice, she wasn’t. Not more worthy, not cleverer, certainly not more beautiful – I don’t know about her cooking, of course. Listen, don’t try to be her, because you can’t. Be you – you can see he loves you.’
‘He’s never said so. Never.’
‘Well – I’m sure he will. You’re happy when you’re together, aren’t you?’
‘Terribly happy. He’s so – so – sweet. So kind. So tender hearted. He says the dearest things to me. Like I’ve made him happy again when he never thought he would be. Like he keeps thinking about me, just being glad I’m there. Like he can’t believe how lucky it was he met me.’
‘Doesn’t sound as though he’s not sure about you to me. Alice, stop fretting. Just enjoy it. Do you love him?’
‘Oh, Jillie, I do absolutely love him, although of course he is quite – odd. I’ve never known anyone remotely like him before, he’s so serious and so intense, but I hate not being with him. He’s even distracting me from my work, makes it seem almost unimportant. I got ticked off by Sister yesterday, nothing’s ever done that, nothing and nobody, not even Philip.’
‘Good heavens,’ said Jillie, laughing, ‘that does sound serious. And talking of Philip, has Tom – I mean, do you –’
‘No,’ said Alice firmly, blushing. ‘Of course we’ve talked about it, and he absolutely understands how I feel and he says he would never force me to do anything I wasn’t happy with, but actually – well –’ She looked at Jillie slightly shamefaced. ‘Actually, I can imagine doing it with him. I love him that much. All the things that I always believed, like it’s wrong if you’re not married, or at least totally committed, I can feel myself changing my mind about. I mean, if he’d asked me to marry him I definitely would. Go to bed with him, I mean. I tell you what, I jolly well want to,’ she added, blushing again.
‘Well, you know what I think about it anyway.’
‘Yes, yes, I do. And I never thought I’d come to agree with you. So – while we’re on the subject –’ She looked very directly at Jillie. ‘Are you? With Ned?’
‘No,’ said Jillie, and it was her turn to blush. ‘I’m not. I wish I was. But he’s never even asked me, and I can’t work out why. I mean, maybe he just doesn’t fancy me.’
‘Oh, don’t be silly. He’s crazy about you, anyone can see.’
‘Well, I don’t know that he is,’ said Jillie. ‘We seem to have totally hit the buffers. Sometimes I think he just sees me as a friend. It’s been going on an awfully long time, but then like you, we’re both fearsomely busy.’ She sighed. ‘Anyway, we’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you. I just think that, somehow, you’ve got to put Laura behind you. Not forget about her – you can’t – but stop comparing yourself with her. She’s been dead for what –?’
‘Three years,’ said Alice. ‘And I’m sure Tom knows how many days. But actually, in his head, I think only about a week. Honestly, if she was alive and she’d left him, I could cope. But you can’t fight a perfect memory. And sometimes, I just know he’s thinking about her. Even when we’ve been kissing, or he’s lying on the bed holding me, he suddenly goes away, not really, but in his head, I can feel it, and I know he’s thinking about her.’
‘Well, Alice, I think you have to confront it.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I think you have to talk to him about it. Tell him how you feel. Then it’s in the open, you can discuss it and if he obviously does – did – still feel more for her than he does for you, you’ll know where you are. Otherwise she is never, ever going to go away.’
‘It’s lovely to see you. You’re looking marvellous. Love the hair.’
‘Do you? I thought it might be a tad too short, but René does usually know best. You look pretty good yourself, Wendelien. Considering. How’s it going?’
‘The pregnancy? Better. It was ghastly at first, now the worst thing is feeling tired all the time.’
‘I should be getting some beauty sleep myself,’ said Diana. ‘Not that I’m short of it. Being pregnant sounds a bit like life in Yorkshire, supper and then early to bed. While Johnathan stays up, working,’ she added with a sigh. ‘Not that if he came to bed it would be exactly exciting.’
‘Oh, Diana. I’m sorry.’
‘Oh, it’s all right. It’s just boring boring boring. I should go mad without my second life. Here’s the barman. Let me treat you. Are you allowed cocktails?’
‘Just a little one. I’ll have a Buck’s Fizz. The orange juice part will be good for me. And – it isn’t difficult, getting away?’
‘Not in the least. He just looks at me in that weirdly vague way and says, “Fine, darling, whatever you want.” He did say that when Jamie starts school next year he won’t be able to come with me, but that’s all right, he doesn’t have to, and although Mummy will miss him, it’ll be easier in lots of ways.’
‘And who is this session for?’ asked Wendelien.
‘Oh – Vogue,’ said Diana carelessly, as if such a thing was utterly commonplace, ‘with John French. I’m thrilled, he makes one looks so marvellous, not a wrinkle or a droop to be seen – it’s all in his lighting, you see, it bleaches everything out. No one can work out quite how he does it, it’s a sort of magic. And he’s extraordinary to work with. He’s queer, of course, but so gentlemanly and he just loves women. The more ladylike the better.’
‘He must like you then,’ said Wendelien.
‘He does seem to. He says I have the bones. But I’m afraid I’m absolutely not his first choice. He works most of the time with people like Fiona Campbell-Walter and Barbara Goalen. You can’t take a bad picture of either of them. You can of me, I assure you. But he directs so brilliantly: terribly painstaking, spends hours just getting a foot or a hand or the angle of the head exactly, exactly so. Never touches the camera himself.’