‘Golly,’ said Alice, contemplating the joy of her bed life as she called it, the swooping, sweeping pleasure, the consuming, greedy invasion of her senses the moment Tom touched her, just the sheer joy of experiencing it and of knowing she was giving the joy back to him. It was so much part of love, surely. How could Ned not be sharing this with Jillie, or at least wanting to share it? Something was wrong, terribly wrong; but she couldn’t begin to imagine what it could be.
Ned had chosen Ludo as his best man – of course. Ludo, who had known from the very beginning. Ludo, whose example he had followed. Ludo, who had encouraged him with his own happy marriage, his large, growing family. Ludo, who had assured him he was doing the right thing, that he would be happy, as would Jillie, as would their children. Ludo, who had made a wonderful speech at the engagement party, that gathering of the great and the good in the house in Highbury. Ned had been so proud that night, so proud and so happy, so sure of himself, so certain of his love for Jillie, of hers for him.
And so welcomed into the family: his future father-in-law, in the most wonderful erudite speech, told how proud they were to have him joining them, how happy for Jillie; but it had been that night the fear had begun, that he would fail Jillie, not only privately, but publicly and dreadfully. He lay awake, quite literally into the dawn, haunted and afraid, and since then the fear had resisted denial.
His mother had come to the party, as well as his father; probably the first time they had met since across the divorce courts, and of course they did not meet then, not really. His father had made a stiff little speech, and Persephone had just wafted about, in a cloud of cream silk and lace, looking rather naughtily bride-like, stunning people and charming them with her beauty. She had taken a great shine to Tom, had told him that, apart from her son, he was the most handsome man in the room, and Alice could see he was absurdly taken by her in return. Well, he clearly liked a bit of class in his women. That Southcott woman who had been riding the carousel with him; there was no denying the rapport between them as they sat there, laughing at one another, his arm round her waist. While making his excuses and protestations, he had revealed more than he realised, talking of her kindness and genuine sorrow at Laura’s grave, their childhood years interwoven by village life, their first proper meeting as he stood in the ditch, and how every word of it, remembered so vividly, told not so much of her attitude to him, as his to her.
Yes, yes, he said impatiently, as he and Alice lay in bed that night – for she had returned perhaps unwisely to the subject – of course Diana was beautiful; she was a top model, for heaven’s sake. That didn’t alter the fact that she was a perfect specimen of her breed, spoilt, snobbish, vain; and then rather spoilt the effect by adding – unwisely – that he had been surprised by how gentle and natural a mother she clearly was.
‘Tom,’ said Alice suddenly. ‘What did you think of Ned?’
‘I liked what I saw of him. Which wasn’t much, was it? But he was very nice to me. Jillie had done her bit, told him about the politics thing, and he asked me about that. And he’s all the right things for Jillie, isn’t he?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well – charming, successful, good-looking –’
‘I don’t know why you should think those are the sorts of things that would matter to Jillie,’ said Alice, slightly irritably. ‘She’s not a shallow person.’
‘I didn’t say she was. Quite the reverse. But she’s grown up in that sort of set-up, hasn’t she? She’ll expect to be kept in the manner to which she’s been accustomed, as they say.’
‘I think that’s a horrible thing to say,’ said Alice.
‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous. It’s true.’
‘All right. But what sort of a person do you think he is? Do you think he really loves Jillie?’
‘Oh, Alice, don’t be absurd – how can I tell? He seemed to be very fond of her, but then they were getting engaged, weren’t they? He was hardly going to be anything else.’
‘So he didn’t seem – odd in any way?’
‘What sort of odd?’
‘Oh, I don’t know.’
‘Alice, he seemed exactly like most people from his class to me. Maybe a bit less self-confident. But then, that wouldn’t be surprising, given his childhood, that father and that mother.’
‘No, I suppose not,’ said Alice, giving up. ‘Jillie wants us to have dinner together one night, the four of us. Would you like that?’
‘You know I’d hate it,’ said Tom. ‘But for you, yes, I suppose so. After the wedding. I tell you one thing I didn’t like –’
‘Yes?’ said Alice, wondering if it was going to be deeply significant.
‘That shirt he was wearing.’
‘What was wrong with it?’
‘Hideous colour. Almost yellow. I mean, nice suit and then ruin it. How could he do that?’
Tom noticed clothes, both men’s and women’s. Alice had been surprised by this at first, wondering why when it was apparently out of character. He had submitted, without protest, to being kitted out in morning dress, and had then taken her on an expedition to buy his going-away suit, and astonished her by choosing cream linen, an open-weave white cotton shirt which he insisted would be worn open necked and – most astonishing of all – a panama hat with a distinctly wider brim than the conventions of the time would allow.
‘I shall have to look to my laurels,’ she said, laughing as he modelled it all for her later. ‘You’ll outclass me completely. None of the going-away pictures on our piano.’
‘It would be nice to have a piano,’ said Tom suddenly, arranging his linen suit carefully on a hanger, ‘and not just for putting pictures on. If we bought that house in Ealing, the one with the room with French windows, it would go very nicely. You could maybe teach me and the children to play. I’d like our house to have lots of music in it.’
‘Like the Bevan household?’ said Alice, her eyes sparkling at him. She was teasing him, but he took it seriously and said yes, music was so important, it reached out to everyone, whatever their circumstances and education. ‘If I was education minister,’ he added, ‘I’d make music the first lesson of every day in every school.’
‘Would you like to be education minister? Don’t tell me you’re going off health?’
‘No, of course not,’ he said, sounding shocked. ‘That will always be the most important thing to me. It’s at the heart of every civilised society.’
‘And yet your Mr Bevan has resigned.’
‘He had to. He couldn’t tolerate the watering down of his ideals.’
‘Well, there’s a job ready and waiting for you,’ said Alice, giving him a kiss. ‘And no, I’m not teasing you and you know I’ll do everything in my power to help make it happen.’
She had no idea what she was promising.
Chapter 25
1951