Enduring Passions Read online

  ‘Well?’ Her mother was on the edge of her bureau chair.

  Fay looked up.

  ‘Sir Trevor wants me to accompany him for a concert next month, and then for a six month tour of Australia, New Zealand and the Far East.’

  ‘Oh, Fay, that’s marvellous.’

  Her mother got up and came over. They hugged each other, then drew apart, her mother chattering excitedly.

  ‘You’ll need a whole new wardrobe for the tropics. Isn’t this exciting? We’ll have a whale of a time. Harrods, Harvey Nichols – all the little shops and the Burlington Arcade….’

  Her daughter didn’t seem to be reacting as she had expected.

  ‘Is everything all right, darling? You do want to go, don’t you?’

  In truth Fay didn’t. It would mean not seeing Tom for six whole months. As it was her mind and body already ached at a separation of days.

  ‘I suppose so. It’s just I’ve never been away for so long before.’

  Her mother became businesslike.

  ‘My dear girl, we never had any problem with your boarding at school. And six months – it will fly by. You’ll be home for Christmas.’

  Unable to say why she didn’t want to go, Fay just smiled weakly.

  ‘Yes, Mummy, of course. I suppose it’s the shock. I didn’t think they’d select me, there were so many vying for the job – people who probably need it far more than I.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, girl. You’re very talented. I’m going to telephone your father’s secretary – he’ll want to know straight away when he gets in to the office.’

  As she bustled away, Fay picked up the photograph envelope. In her bedroom she used one side of her sewing scissors to open the letter. Excitedly she got out the prints.

  The very first one she looked at became her favourite. There in black and white, frozen for ever, they stood, hand in hand. Eventually she touched her lips to him and placed it between the leaves of her Bible.

  When he finally got his rota, Tom found he had got the Monday he had requested.

  That cheered him up no end. Tomorrow he would get some flying in before the dance commitment in the evening. Now, it was nearly time to ring her. He was in a telephone box situated at the approach to Leckhampton Station.

  He felt in his jacket pocket at the little box snuggled there. His mother had been right, Grannie had been over the moon with his news and had immediately gone to her room. They’d heard the tin trunk under her bed being pulled over the linoleum. When she came down the stairs it was with the little box, and inside the ring with its single stone diamond. It wasn’t big but, to his unpractised eye, it was just beautiful. He hadn’t known how to thank her. She had tears in her eyes, as she sighed, ‘It was my mother’s. I’ve kept it since she died. She would have been delighted for you to have it – keeping it in the family. Your girl, is she beautiful?’

  ‘Yes Gran, very.’

  She had patted his hand. ‘Then that’s settled, dear. I hope she likes it.’

  Now he looked again at it, sparkling up at him from its black velvet bed. He knew that Fay would be used to bigger things, but it really was delicate Victorian workmanship, even if the diamond was small.

  And he knew Fay would treasure it, whatever its size.

  He snapped the lid shut and put it back in his pocket. The hands of his watch neared the appointed time. With his money ready he dialled the operator. When she told him the amount he shelled it into the slot and stood waiting with his finger on button ‘A’.

  ‘Trying to connect you.’

  At Codrington Hall the telephone in the stone-flagged entrance lobby gave out its loud double ring. The butler, in a white jacket over his pinstripe trousers was overseeing the laying of the dinner table when he heard the telephone. He started for the hall, but Fay called out, ‘It’s all right, I’ll take it.’

  She picked up the receiver. ‘Codrington Hall.’

  Tom pushed the button. There was a crash as the coins fell into the metal box and a second of infuriating silence, as he said, ‘Hello – hello’ and then suddenly Fay’s voice was saying, ‘Codrington Hall – is that you, Tom?’

  ‘Fay, darling, yes, it’s me.’

  Her voice came warmly down the line. ‘Tom, I really miss you.’

  ‘And I’ve missed you too.’

  ‘You still love me then?’

  Unseen Tom pushed his trilby back off his forehead and did a parody of an American voice from the films. ‘You bet, baby.’

  She chuckled. ‘You fool. So, when can we meet?’

  ‘Monday – I’m free all day.’

  She had to restrain herself from shouting out with glee.

  ‘Oh darling, I’m so pleased. Where – what time?’

  His voice came down the line. ‘I’ll come to Cirencester if it’s easier – and Fay, I’ve got something for you.’

  Fay leant away, trying to see whether her mother had moved from her position in the drawing-room.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘No, I won’t tell you, it’s a surprise.’

  Intrigued she teased. ‘Are you sure I am going to like it?’

  ‘I hope so.’

  She remembered the photographs. ‘Oh, and I’ve got something for you.’

  It was his turn to be both puzzled and tease. ‘And am I going to like it?’

  ‘Oh, I think so.’

  They chatted for a minute, she asking him whether he had flown that week? He told her about his poor showing when, all of a sudden, the pips started going.

  ‘Hang on,’ he shouted, struggling to get more coins in the slot. The infuriating moment of no communication happened again before he heard her saying, ‘Tom, are you there?’

  ‘Yes, look, where and at what time on Monday?’

  She turned, checking again that her Mother wasn’t in earshot.

  ‘I’ll come to Cheltenham – it’s easier. That all right for you?’

  ‘Of course. You’ll be on the early train?’

  ‘Yes and I’m sorry about not being free on Sunday.’

  Fay glanced around nervously again to check she couldn’t be overheard.

  ‘Darling, I love you. I’m so miserable without you.’

  ‘Me, too. You’re in my mind all the time.’

  The pips went again. Over them he hurriedly called out ‘I love you’, to which she replied, ‘And I adore you.’

  They kept repeating ‘Love you – love you’ until the pips stopped. At the last moment, he managed one final ‘I love you Fay,’ then the line went dead.

  He replaced the handset, pressed button ‘B’ in case there was any change from somebody else and then pushed open the heavy door. He stopped, felt in his trouser pocket, though he knew there were no more coins. Down the road was a little corner shop called Lords. He’d buy something and with the change ring Mr Trubshaw to make sure he could maximize his flying time over the weekend.

  Fay, left with a dead line, still held the receiver to her ear, saying in a much louder voice – ‘All right, Jennifer, I’ll see you on Monday.’

  She paused, pretended to be listening, then said, still loudly, ‘Cavendish House will be fine, till then, bye.’

  She put the phone down, went back into the room. Her mother was sitting there reading a Woman’s Own, and looked up.

  ‘Who was that, dear?’

  ‘Jennifer, I’m meeting her at Cavendish House on Monday.’

  ‘Oh, you could do some shopping for your trip. Shall I come as well, darling?’

  Even though she felt a surge of panic she managed to stop herself overreacting.

  She screwed her face up. ‘We won’t have time for that sort of thing. She’s wants me to meet her for coffee, and then go and see some New Zealand friends who have come back with her.’

  ‘I see.’

  Her mother turned a page. ‘Extraordinary.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘I met her mother at the Pearsons the other evening. She never said anything about Jennifer be
ing back, let alone house guests.’

  Fay suddenly found it difficult to breathe and managed only a weak, ‘Really. Must have slipped her mind.’ With that she made for the door. ‘Just going down to the stable, I need to check on Jenny. Had a feeling she might have been going lame on the walk home on Wednesday.’

  When she’d gone, her mother lowered her magazine, frowning. Fay was behaving rather oddly these days, and now, with the offer of a professional position and exciting travel prospects, she seemed less than enthusiastic.

  It could only mean that the boy she had met at the party was more serious than they had thought.

  When Mr Trubshaw lowered the receiver, he wondered how the heck he was going to square it up with the wife. He’d just agreed to give Tom Roxham a whole morning and an hour in the afternoon on Saturday as well. He must be crazy. But he knew why really. He picked up the Air Ministry Directive that had landed on his desk that morning. It was stamped urgent. They wanted all flying schools to double their efforts to qualify as many pilots in the basics by midsummer. Tossing the letter down, he leant back in his chair and closed his eyes. Nearly every month now they were putting the pressure on them all. His friend over at Worcester had reported a visit by two air-force types who had given him a pep talk on the necessity for advertising the scheme and checking on his aircraft. They’d even gone as far as to say that they might have funds that could be used to help with equipment.

  No government agency did that unless there was a very good reason. Now the morality of it all sometimes got to him. Tim Mayhew was right. Young lads, like Tom Roxham – did they really know what they were being trained for?

  And he was helping them.

  It made him increasingly uneasy.

  Fay’s father strode into the hall, giving his hat, cane and brief-case to one of the maids, allowing the butler, Wilson, to help him off with his coat.

  ‘A good day, sir?’

  ‘Very good, thank you. Where are Lady Rossiter and Miss Fay?’

  ‘In the drawing-room sir, I took the liberty of pouring you your usual sherry.’

  Fay’s father shook his head. ‘Not tonight Wilson, a bottle of the Pol if you please, we have a celebration.’

  ‘Indeed, sir?’

  ‘Yes. Miss Fay is going to accompany Sir Trevor Keynes on a tour of Australia, New Zealand, Singapore.’

  ‘That’s excellent news sir, and a very proud moment for the family.’

  It was genuinely meant.

  ‘Thank you.’

  Lord Rossiter opened the door and entered the drawing-room, holding out his arms. ‘Fay, darling, congratulations.’

  ‘Daddy.’

  He wrapped his arms around her and gave her a bear hug.

  ‘I’ve been thinking of you all day. Sorry I couldn’t be with you yesterday, but it was a very late meeting, so I had to stay at the club.’

  Her mother came forward and joined them.

  ‘I’ve been trying to cheer her up. She’s not happy with the idea of being away for six months.’

  Her father held her at arm’s length and studied her face. ‘Is this true, Fay?’

  She shrugged.

  ‘I don’t know, Daddy – honest. It’s a long time to be away from you all.’

  ‘Nonsense, my dear.’ Her father enthused on and on until Wilson entered with the Pol Roger in an ice bucket and proceeded to open the bottle with practised efficiency.

  Her father handed the first two glasses to her mother and Fay, then took his own.

  ‘To our daughter – every success in her chosen career.’

  They clinked their glasses in turn.

  ‘Now, tell me about the tour, Fay, when does it start, and where are all the places you visit? Don’t forget we have relatives and good friends all over the world.’

  She sipped her champagne, feeling the bubbles go up her nose.

  ‘Not exactly sure of all the details yet, Daddy. Anyway, I’m to play for him at a concert before we go and there will have to be rehearsals of course.’

  ‘Good, that will give me plenty of time to write to people, make sure you always have somebody to turn to if needs be.’

  ‘You’re not doing anything tomorrow evening are you, darling?’ said her mother. ‘We could all go out for a celebration dinner at the Royal.’

  Relieved that she didn’t have to make up an excuse, Fay said quickly, ‘Nothing at all. That would be fun.’

  ‘I’ll get Wilson to make a reservation.’

  Whilst her mother busied herself her father, one hand in his pocket, asked. ‘Have you got the letter, Fay. Could I see it?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  She went to the mantelpiece where they had left it earlier and held it out.

  Her father pulled his hand from his pocket, took it and started reading.

  He looked up proudly. ‘Hmm, it says, “your expansive and lyrical playing helps to balance his tendency to excitement and narrative”. Is that true?’

  Fay smiled and shrugged. ‘He kept trying to get away from me. We were going a couple of beats faster at the end, but I kept dragging him back.’

  He tapped the letter. ‘Well, he’s very complimentary about your timing.’

  Wilson appeared in the doorway. Lady Rossiter explained what was wanted. He turned to go, but her father suddenly said, ‘Oh Wilson,’ he glanced at his wife, ‘we will need four reservations for dinner.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’

  Puzzled, Fay said, ‘who is the surprise guest?’

  Lord Rossiter looked a little sly. ‘Jeremy called me at the House today. Wants to see me about something. I suggested he came late Saturday afternoon – so he might as well come with us to dinner – should be fun for you, Fay.’

  She pretended to shrug as if she didn’t mind either way. ‘Fine.’

  ‘Nice lad. He was out with the hunt wasn’t he, on Wednesday?’

  ‘Yes, Daddy.’

  ‘He’s got a good seat and he’s a fine shot.’

  Fay didn’t feel she had to say anything. It was just infuriating that, whatever Jeremy wanted with her father, the latter should inflict him on them at supper. Hadn’t he got the message yet that she wasn’t that close to Jeremy?

  In the morning Fay decided not to go out again with the Saturday hunt. Instead she took all three dogs for a walk, the two Welsh Springers and her own Jack Russell, Alfie. She climbed up the steep hill in front of the house and stood looking over the valley. Smoke rose in straight columns from the chimneys of the Cotswold stone cottages. Crows wheeled and cawed above the trees near the church. It was so still that she could clearly hear the bleating of sheep a mile away.

  She climbed over a style, Alfie squeezing underneath while the two Springers, barking excitedly, scrambled up on to the dry-stone wall; they jumped on to the wooden step crashing off into the undergrowth.

  Fay was in a turmoil. A short while ago the news she had received yesterday would have sent her over the moon but, because of Tom, everything had changed.

  She needed to talk to him, see what he thought. Six months apart – it would be unbearable.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  They had done all the pre-flight checks and after the shout of ‘contact’ the engine burst into life. The chocks had been cleared and now he was lined up on the grass runway, looking at the back of Trubshaw’s leather helmeted head, the latter’s voice crackled in his earphones.

  ‘Right – in your own time.’

  Tom’s hands went to his goggles, brought them down over his eyes. He gritted his teeth, determined to do better.

  Keeping his eyes on the Ts and Ps he advanced the throttle, holding the quivering machine on the brakes as he did a last magneto check. When he judged the time was right, he released them and they started bowling down the runway. Very swiftly the tail plane lifted and he could see beyond Trubshaw’s head at the grass rushing under the plane and the trees in the distance, and one in particular.

  The nose of the Tiger varied only slightly from
one side of it to the other – he was keeping a better line. Then all of a sudden it was academic as the vibration ceased and the machine took wing. They soared into the morning sky.

  He found himself looking into the eyes of Trubshaw in the latter’s rear view mirror. The head nodded as the crackling voice said, ‘There you are – you’re relaxing again. These things iron themselves out. Now, let’s do some circuits and bumps.’

  For the next hour Tom did take offs and landings until Trubshaw was satisfied, then they climbed higher and started on stalls and spins. When Trubshaw went off to lunch at home, he stayed in the office eating bread and dripping sandwiches, washed down with a cup of tea made in a small pot that detached into two parts, the lower half being the actual cup and saucer. The sugar was in a battered 1934 Jacob’s Assorted biscuit tin, the tea straight out of an opened Typhoo packet. A smooth-voiced crooner was singing on the Vidor radio.

  The song ending abruptly with a few rising chords from the saxes. It was Jack Payne and his BBC orchestra and singers.

  That reminded him about that night, he was getting a lift in a new Austin Ruby.

  On a small side-table were a stack of flying magazines. He rifled through Popular Flying and New Air Weekly. There was also a guide to the Airport of London at Croydon. He took one and propped his boots up on the edge of the desk and began reading. The next thing he remembered was being rudely awakened by Trubshaw who swept his feet off the desk as he said, ‘Oy – when the cat’s away….’

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.’

  His instructor grinned, ‘You are in luck. The lady wife was in a good mood so, so am I. Now then, wake up and let’s go flying.’

  The sun was low in the sky when Tom brought her in to land for the last time, bumping just the once before the plane settled back on to the grass. He taxied in and cut the engine, feeling utterly exhausted. They went through the post flight checks, then he unstrapped and climbed out, going around the Tiger Moth for a last inspection.

  Trubshaw stood watching him, then they walked back to the office together. He ran a hand through his hair as he chucked his helmet on to the magazines.