‘And you are?’ said Diana, studying him with interest.
Thus it was that twenty minutes later, Tom found himself in the cocktail bar at the Savoy. He had a vague, uneasy feeling that he should have been somewhere else, doing something much more worthy, but he really couldn’t remember what. Since all that mattered was that Alice was on duty, he should just try to enjoy it. Which he was. Very much. As he sat there, watching Diana, waving for the waiter, ordering champagne, taking in the surroundings, which were scarcely familiar in themselves, but which induced a sensation he could recognise from being in Jillie’s house – and even, he reflected with some surprise, being in the Southcott house with its glorious warmth that freezing day surrounded by books – he settled back in his chair, took the champagne from the tray the waiter was offering him and surrendered to – what? A sort of rich pleasure, a sense that this was quality in its purest sense, and that while this was not where he belonged, he had reached it and not without some difficulty, and having the ability to recognise that, he had every right to enjoy it.
So he sat there in the bar, smiling at Diana who was unmistakably happy to be there with him. Delighted to be able – just for once – to be in command of the situation, sipping at champagne and feeling neither overawed nor uncomfortable but easy and able to enjoy the whole, surprising experience in a totally unsurprised way.
The picture of him and Diana in the Daily News the following morning, taking up a large part of the third page, aroused a variety of emotions in a variety of people. It was the main feature story in the paper that day: the rest of the page and the one opposite showed a number of smaller photographs, including one of Donald Herbert eating candyfloss. Diana was described by Josh in his caption as top model Diana Southcott (she had agreed with Johnathan at the beginning that she would be known by her maiden name) and he as rising star of the Labour Party, Tom Knelston (Tom had agreed to this wild overstatement after his third glass of champagne, urged on by Donald Herbert and Diana). Harry Campbell, the editor of the Daily News, was delighted as he was able to show Jarvis McIntyre, his ultimate boss, that he had done what he asked and made a splash of the festival; Donald Herbert was gratified at doing what he had been looking for an opportunity to do for a long time and bring Tom to the public’s attention; Blanche Ellis Brown was thrilled at the pre-publicity for one of her fashion pages, and her new top model discovery; Diana Southcott was extremely pleased with herself, not only for getting some personal publicity but for finding a reason to claim Tom Knelston as more than just a childhood acquaintance; Tom Knelston was deeply embarrassed and anxious about Alice’s reaction, and to a lesser degree that of the local Labour MP and indeed the party chairman. His apprehension about Alice’s reaction was correct; she was so angry on reading the article, brought to her notice by several of her colleagues, that she had to go into the sluice and throw several bowls of water at the wall, before rehearsing word for word what she would have to say to Tom when she saw him that evening; words delivered with such vitriol in the hallway of the nurses’ home where he was waiting for her with a rather weary-looking bunch of daffodils that he felt them like physical blows, her nurse’s cap hurled onto the floor and the daffodils with them.
‘I thought you didn’t want to go to that “thing”, as you called it. So what changed? Some fancy posh bird in a fur coat? I wonder how your beloved party would view that? I thought you were a socialist, Tom Knelston. All over, is it, now you’re hobnobbing with top models? How did you meet her anyway? Just happened to bump into her? As you wandered through the park? All by yourself. Or were you with your loud, vulgar friend Donald Herbert? I never could see the attraction of that man, Tom. He’s just – gross. Well, you’re very welcome to the whole disgusting lot of them. I just wonder what Laura might have had to say about it? You could at least have warned me, but I don’t suppose you care enough about me to even consider that. Well, never mind. I never want to see you again, Tom Knelston, as long as I live. So you can just get out of here and go and find Miss Southcott. Only if she’s got any sense, she won’t waste her time on someone like you. Do you think she’ll sit for hours listening to your boring speeches, or your ambitions for the National Health Service? I very much doubt it. I don’t suppose she’s been near a public hospital in her entire life. Now just get out of here, and –’ she was crying now, the tears somehow increasing the force of her rage – ‘don’t touch me, just don’t, stop it, Tom, stop it, I hate you, or I would if I didn’t despise you. What are you—’
For Tom, standing there, initially meek and apologetic, had slowly, in the face of this onslaught, become overwhelmed with a quite different emotion, one of intense and quite shocking desire for her. He had never seen this Alice before: passionate, raw, careless of what she was saying. The sweet, submissive girl had, as he watched and listened to her, become a woman, strong, brave, honest, fighting for what she had and what mattered to her. He raised his voice above hers and said, ‘Alice, stop it. Stop it now, at once. You’re being stupid. And I—’
‘Oh really? Stupid? No one’s ever complained about it before.’
‘Well, perhaps they should have done. Perhaps you’d have grown up a bit. Instead of going around thinking you’re perfect, doing so well at that expensive school, and at your nursing, and your parents . . .’
That did it; she went for him, physically, lunged at him, slapped his face, pummelled his chest, screaming that she hated him. Suddenly he caught her wrists and held her off and – what was he doing now? Smiling, for heaven’s sake, smiling and then half laughing. She lashed out with the only weapons she had left, her feet, and kicked him in the shins.
‘Don’t laugh at me!’ she said. ‘Laura might have been perfect, but I tell you what, Tom Knelston, you most certainly aren’t. You’re arrogant and quite often boring and rude and—’
‘Laura always said my mother should have put me over her knee more often. Said she spoilt me. You seem to be in agreement with her over that at least.’ He rubbed his ankle, grimacing. ‘That quite hurt, you know.’
Alice stood back, breathing heavily. ‘Good, I meant it to. And yes, I think Laura was right.’
They stood there, the pair of them, six inches apart now, their eyes fixed on one another. Then suddenly, Tom reached for Alice’s hand, and with his other hand very gently stroked her cheek. ‘I was just wondering if you might consider marrying me? Arrogant, boring and rude as I am?’
‘Marry you?’
‘Yes. Marry me.’
‘Oh,’ said Alice. ‘Oh, my goodness. Oh, gosh. Crikey. Crumbs.’