Tom, greatly to his regret, still had no experience whatsoever of Doing It; Angela was determined to preserve her virginity at all costs, and if those costs included losing Tom, then that was a small price to pay.
Tom knew this; and he was sufficiently fond of Angela to put up with it. She was slowly allowing a slackening of her rules, and he was now permitted to stroke and even fondle her breasts to his heart’s content, given the opportunity, but the moment his hands drifted downwards she emitted a stern reprimand. It was all very frustrating; she was so pretty and so sweet to him, and always looked extremely nice. She had very little money for clothes, but she was clever at sewing, and made most of her dresses out of discounted materials from Parsons, using the free patterns that came with Woman’s Own or My Weekly, her favourite magazines. By the summer of their courtship, in 1938, they managed to save up enough money to buy bicycles, second-hand but beautifully restored by Angela’s father. They set off every Sunday, unless it was absolutely pouring with rain, with picnics laden into their bicycle baskets: sandwiches, hard-boiled eggs, slices of delicious cake baked by Angela herself and cold lemonade in the Thermos flask (or tea for the chillier days). Looking back from much later in his life, Tom remembered those days, pedalling through the countryside, challenging Angela to races, picnicking in fields and woods and arriving home sated with fresh air and sunshine, as some of the happiest in his life.
They would talk of Angela’s life at the store, or of Tom’s life at Pemberton’s, and when, if ever, he might become a fully fledged solicitor, but they also discussed – to Tom’s surprise that she should be interested, and even modestly well informed – the growing threat from Hitler’s Germany. It was not an unusual topic, of course; everyone was worried and aware of the dangers, although of differing opinions. Angela’s father was a great appeaser, claiming that there was some good in what Hitler said and was doing: ‘Say what you like, he’s turned that country round.’ Jack took the opposing view, reinforced by the appalling behaviour of the fascist Oswald Mosley’s Blackshirts; Mary kept silent about her views, but she nursed a silent passion for the wildly romantic Duke of Windsor and he was clearly of a mind to go along with Hitler – and why not, if it meant there would be no war? With three sons under threat, war was to her a nightmare of dreadful proportions.
‘I suppose you’d have to go and fight if there was a war?’ Angela asked one day as they lay back in the long grass, and Tom said, yes, of course, any right-minded man would, and then found himself distracted, as he so often was, by more personal considerations. Angela had made herself one of the new divided short skirts for their cycling, finishing just above her knees and revealing more of her legs than he had ever dreamed he would be privy to. Tentatively he put out a hand and stroked one of her calves, then moved upward above her knee, expecting to be slapped down any moment. But she merely looked at him and laughed and said, ‘Oh, go on then,’ adding, ‘No higher than that, mind,’ as he reached mid-thigh. But that was enough happiness for now as he started to kiss her, and the war and Mr Hitler were of as little consequence as the skylarks flying high above them in the blue sky. Yes, it was the happiest time.
And then he met Laura.
‘Well,’ Caroline Southcott said happily, as they waved off first Michael and Ned and then Johnathan after a rather extended Sunday luncheon, ‘what a lovely two days. Ned is such a sweetie, and Johnathan is an absolute charmer. I like him so much and so does Daddy. They had the most wonderful conversation about Hitler and his goings-on after dinner last night.’
‘Yes, I know,’ said Diana shortly. She had found the conversation hugely irritating as it consumed Johnathan’s attention for at least an hour. At first she had been quite pleased, thinking this was her chance to concentrate on Ned and indeed get him to concentrate on her. For Ned was quite something. Not short, not pimply, but tall, with dark floppy hair and what she could only describe as burning dark eyes, which he turned on her with great intensity as they were introduced. He was amusing too, and, she discovered after supper, a very good jazz pianist.
‘So,’ said Caroline. ‘Have you been exposed to patients already?’
‘Good Lord, no. Kept well away from them, poor souls,’ said Ned, laughing. ‘We’re taught entirely in the medical school. It’s just across Charterhouse Square from the hospital.’
‘I believe your father is a surgeon. Is his hospital Barts?’ said Johnathan, who had been very quiet until then; he had arrived much later than the others, only just in time for dinner.
‘No, no, thank God,’ said Ned, and although he laughed, Diana had a feeling he meant it. ‘He’s at St Peter’s Chelsea. Orthopaedics, real old sawbones he is. Literally. Sorry,’ he added, seeing Caroline’s face. ‘Not ideal dinner-table subject. Trouble with growing up in a medical household, you’re a bit insensitive. He’s terribly disappointed I’m not in a surgical firm—’
‘Firm?’
‘Yes, that’s how we’re divided up,’ said Michael. ‘Medical and surgical. Apprenticed to a team of doctors, headed by a consultant, whole thing called a firm. Of course, you do both in the end. We medical chaps are called clerks, the surgical students are dressers. As in dressing wounds. Oh, dear, perhaps we’d better change the subject.’
‘Yes, I think we had,’ said Caroline, laughing. ‘Johnathan, how is the City these days?’
And they were off. Diana almost pleaded a headache, but didn’t want to appear feeble – although she did leave the table first, saying she wanted an early night, with a day’s hunting ahead.
‘I don’t know who’s enjoyed it more, us or them,’ said Jonathan. They were leaning on the gate of the paddock, watching their weary horses cropping at the grass.
‘I’m glad we could offer you such a good day,’ said Diana. ‘Perfect weather. The horses love it, being part of a herd, and—’
‘And we love it for the same reason.’
‘Oh, dear,’ she said. ‘I’m not sure I quite want to be part of that herd. They’re a bit . . .’
‘What? Two-dimensional?’
‘Well, yes. I suppose so. Present company excepted, of course,’ she added quickly.
‘Of course. But I don’t think you’re right, actually,’ he said slowly. ‘My parents both adore it, but they’re two very different people; my father is far more thoughtful than my mother, intellectual I suppose you would say.’
‘Like you,’ she said, smiling at him.
‘Oh, he makes me look a complete philistine.’
‘Good heavens. And your mother?’
‘She is a complete philistine,’ he said, laughing. ‘But fearless – no fence could daunt her. Whereas he’s actually almost sick with fear the morning before a day out. But once out there, he’s perfectly happy. Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Says he becomes someone else.’