Enduring Passions (5 page)

‘Anything else, miss?’

Hardly able to contain herself she just managed to nod at the wall heater. Whether it was fear or excitement she didn’t know but her
shoulders
seemed suddenly cold.

‘Turn on the heater, please.’

As soon as Julie had gone she tore open the envelope and read the letter. It took several attempts before she finally managed to calm down enough to realize that he would be at the Cadena in Cheltenham at eleven o’clock, and that seemed very polite and proper. She gave a sigh of relief, read it once more, noting his address, and the way he signed
Tom Roxham
with a bit of a flourish. She put it on to the cork-topped table beside the bath.

She just lay there for a long time, almost dazed by the speed of the events, then remembered the
Echo
.

It would be a good idea to have some suggestions of what they might do –
if
she stayed.

She took the paper up and turned the pages until she came to the
entertainments and features section.

It hit her almost immediately. The advertisement carried a photograph and an article on the event. If they went to it, it would give them all
afternoon
to find out about each other, and she could duck out of the evening if it was a disaster. That made her feel better.

And it sounded fun.

She let the paper drop to the floor and submerged herself to her chin.

And if he was ‘
all right
’, what then?

Despite the heat of the bath water, she shivered.

It was becoming a familiar sensation.

It was lucky that, in their household, Friday night was bath night. Tom had considered going to the municipal baths, where, for sixpence, you could have a sumptuously big tub of hot water and a small bar of coal-tar soap. But then his mother and father would have got suspicious if he hadn’t joined the family in their weekly ritual.

The long galvanized bath that hung on the outside wall of the scullery had been brought in and placed before the range in the living-room. Hot water from the boiler, which was used in the week for the laundry, was poured in by the bucketful. Mum went first, then Gran, followed by Dad. Tom brought up the rear, sometimes lucky enough to have some of the used water baled out and the odd fresh one or two bucketfuls added. Now, in his winceyette pyjamas and warm in bed, his mother came to kiss him goodnight. He rolled on to his side and again thought about
tomorrow
. Would it be a fine, sunny day? His gran said ‘yes’. There had been a red sky that night and the bladder-wrack seaweed from Barry Island hanging out by the WC was flat – he thought. He could never remember whether that was good or not.

Tom knew what he was going to wear, his Harris Tweed jacket with grey flannel trousers and his Oxford brogues. Of course, as soon as they all saw him dressed up like that they would know something was up.

Restless, he turned over, punched the pillow, and tried to get to sleep.

But it was impossible. His heart was racing, he could feel his pulse in his ears. All of a sudden he had just the faintest of faint ideas what it must have been like for his father, in the trenches waiting to go over the top.

Fay, he would never have guessed in a million years, had also gone to bed nervously at her aunty’s, as restless as he was about what the morning would bring. His letter in her handbag, read and reread. She had arrived by taxi that afternoon, to be received by a delighted Aunt Cynthia, who, having lived alone since 1917, hadn’t had had so much company for years.

After supper they had sat in her Regency drawing-room playing gin rummy and drinking pink gins. Aunty had insisted Fay join her in one ‘pinkie’ and she had ended up having three. Normally Fay only drank sherry as an aperitif and wine during dinner, apart from the odd stirrup cup. But tonight? She knew why, of course. Her nerves had been playing up all day. Since the morning, when she had packed her cases with Julie; then on the train as she headed, alone, to what? She had read his letter for the hundredth time.

And now to cap it all, she had a headache.

Fay felt very lonely, very vulnerable, very foolish and
very
excited.

Gran was right, it was a nice day. Tom walked to town rather than going by bus. He wanted to get away from all the snide remarks his father was making as soon as he had seen him spruced up.

He was tense and worried. Had she received his letter? And if she had was she coming? There could be many reasons for her not showing up; from a simple one that she just couldn’t make it, through to the one that hurt him the most to think about – she was showing it to her friends and laughing at him. Perhaps she had only ever been teasing him.

He knew he was early, but that was only proper. It was her right to expect him to be there first.

He reached the Cadena. As he approached he looked out for her among all the bobbing heads and faces of the walkers, but she was not there. As he entered the café his nostrils were assailed by the smell of the freshly ground and roasted coffee from the machine in the window.

It was busy, but there were still a few tables free. He made it obvious that he would not be alone, by ostentatiously checking his watch and looking around.

A waitress came over to him. Tom had intended to leave and wait outside, but it dawned on him that that was a pretty silly thing to do. She would simply enter to find him.

‘A table, sir?’

‘Yes, please – for two.’

He followed her and sat down as she placed a menu card on the table.

‘Coffee?’

‘I’m expecting a lady. Can you come back in a few minutes?’

She smiled knowingly. ‘Of course.’

As she bustled away he took a long look around the room. It was noisy, filled with chattering women in hats and fox furs and men
smoking
cigars; their Homburg hats hanging from the stands dotted among the palm trees. Cups rattled on saucers and the small string trio were playing a medley of popular songs at that moment from
The Merry Widow
.

Suddenly there was a crash as a tray was dropped, cups and saucers breaking and bouncing on the parquet floor.

For a brief moment there was a hush while only the orchestra
continued
, then, with a rush of renewed talking and laughter, the moment passed.

The poor red-faced girl, his waitress, was helped by the head waiter and another girl with a dustpan and brush. Tom felt for her and was pleased to see that the head man was treating her decently.

The orchestra finished its piece.

‘Hello.’

Astounded, he looked up at her. She seemed to have just materialized out of thin air. He took in the slim figure in a herringbone coat, tightly belted at the waist. Her hair falling straight down to curl inwards near the corner of her red lips. She wore a small black beret set at a jaunty angle, a red bobble matching her lipstick. Her eyes were even warmer and more intelligent than he remembered.

Hardly daring to trust his voice, he got slowly to his feet, and held out his hand.

She offered her gloved hand, which he took. ‘Thank you for your letter.’

For a moment they remained like that – the first time he had touched her. He didn’t want to let go.

She had been disappointed – worried even when he wasn’t waiting outside. Tense, Fay had taken a deep breath, and pushed open the door. It didn’t help her nerves when, as she had stepped into the large room there was a terrific crash of breaking crockery.

Everybody had looked in that direction. She saw him instantly over
by the wall. He was as handsome and exciting as she remembered – better even. Her blood raced as she had made her way unnoticed towards him.

Finally he let go of her hand, stepped to her chair and held the back. She ran her hands under her coat as she sat and he eased the chair into the table, feeling that everybody in the room must be looking at her.

Fay started to take off her gloves, as he sat down opposite. Hesitatingly, he said, ‘I didn’t know if you would come.’

She finished with her gloves and raised one eyebrow.

‘Why not?’

He pulled a face, ‘Well….’

Fay Rossiter said matter-of-factly, completely hiding her inner turmoil, ‘Here I am.’

He nodded his head in agreement.

‘It’s wonderful.’

There was a pause, broken as the waitress came over.

‘Can I take your order, please?’

Tom Roxham licked his dry lips.

‘Coffee?’

‘Yes, please.’

The waitress scribbled in her order book, said without looking up.

‘Anything else, sir?’

He glanced enquiringly at Fay. Her thick hair swished as she shook her head.

‘No, thank you, I’ve just had breakfast.’

He also shook his head at the woman who tore the top copy of the order and left it on the table as she bustled away.

There was another awkward pause. She dropped her eyes to her lap.

‘I hope you didn’t think it terribly forward, what I did?’

He blurted it out without thinking. ‘I was going mad. I wanted to meet you – but under the circumstances….’

She looked up worriedly.

‘What do you mean?’

Embarrassed, he just had to say it, it had weighed so heavily on his mind.

‘Well, to put it bluntly you wouldn’t normally meet somebody from my background, would you?’ A fire suddenly stirred in his eyes. ‘But I’m proud of my family – they are the best.’

Fay glanced away, across at the orchestra who had just started up again. She bit her lip.

‘I’m sure they are, and you’re right. This is unusual. It’s the first time I’ve ever done anything like this. I don’t know what came over me.’

‘What do you mean?’

She smiled shyly.

‘I’ve never met anybody for coffee – or anything. I only go out with a crowd normally. You see – this is very special for me – it’s my first – what do they call it in the American films?’

Somebody seemed to be standing on his chest – ‘Date?’

The tip of a pink tongue moistened the red lips.

‘Yes’ – but an anxious frown passed over her face.

‘That’s what it is, isn’t it?’

Unfortunately the girl was back with the coffee, setting the pot down, placing the cups and jug of cream, as they sat like wooden dummies
looking
at each other.

When the waitress got back to her station she said to her colleague, ‘Those two are so love-struck over there – they can’t talk.’

But Tom Roxham just had.

‘Yes.’

They both started to grin wider and wider. Fay took in the boyish features, the warm generous eyes and felt comfortable, safe and,
paradoxically
, somehow freer.

He saw only eyes that sparkled, that made him feel terrific. Nothing in his existence had made him feel so good about himself. It was as though he was seeing things in the new Technicolor.

They started to giggle, with sheer relief and an excitement of
something
new in their already changed lives.

‘So,’ she hesitated, ‘
Tom
– have you any idea what we are going to do?’

He was bowled over hearing his name coming from those lips.

‘We could watch the rugby – Cheltenham are playing at home today, and perhaps the cinema tonight?’

‘That’s fine. I’m quite prepared to do that, but I did find something rather exciting, going on today and tomorrow.’

‘Yes?’

She picked up her handbag and started to root in it, at last finding the page she had torn out of the
Gloucestershire Echo
.

‘Here we are.’

She handed it over, saying, ‘Is Staverton very far?’

He read the article with growing trepidation at the possible cost.

‘You want to do this?’

Fay’s excitement was overwhelming.

‘Yes, wouldn’t it be fun?’

There was a picture under a heading, which read:
Flying Show at Staverton Aerodrome
.

The picture showed a large passenger biplane with two engines and a cabin, the pilot’s open cockpit set on a higher level. It looked to Tom Roxham like a converted bomber from the war. It was called ‘Queen Hunter’ and was to give flights to members of the public piloted by Sir Allan Cobham the famous aviator and entrepreneur. There were to be displays of aerobatics, wing walking, and bombing using confetti.

‘Well?’

He looked up at her expectant face and knew that whatever the cost he wasn’t going to disappoint her. He had two big, white fivers taken from his savings account in his wallet that he hoped to pay back in after the weekend; plus three pound notes, a ten shilling note in the second compartment and seven and six in his back pocket.

‘Yes, let’s go. The bus station is just over there.’

‘Bus?’

For an instant she was bemused, thinking only of taxis, then
remembered
that she was with
him
and that’s all he could afford. Besides, she thought, it might be fun. The last time she had travelled that way was when they were hired by the school for outings.

Puzzled he asked, ‘Well, how else are we going to get there?’

She grinned. ‘Of course – silly me. Are you sure? You don’t have to go if you’re not interested?’

‘I think it’s a great idea.’

He looked at his watch. ‘We’ve got plenty of time.’

Fay sat back, holding her cup in both hands.

‘That’s great. I can’t tell you how excited I am. I’ve always wanted to go flying.’

His jaw dropped. He hadn’t thought he was going to be leaving the ground.

‘You’re actually going to go up?’

‘Of course. Don’t you want to?’

He certainly didn’t want to appear unmanly.

‘I’ve never thought about it much – but I’ll give it a go.’

Fay’s face lit up with pleasure.

‘Then it will be a first time for
both
of us.’

Somehow that pushed all trepidation aside. He was going to do
something
with her that nobody else had ever done before. From that moment on it became almost a sacred duty.

When they finished he picked up the bill. Fay wondered about
offering
something, then thought better of it, suspecting that any offer to pay her way would hurt his feelings. But she was determined to help
somewhere
during the day.

Outside he waved in the direction they had to go.

‘We’re over there.’

She fell into step beside him, noting that she hardly came up to the level of his shoulder.

As they crossed the Promenade and made their way to where he said the bus would be, she said, ‘You work for the Great Western Railway then?’

He took her elbow to help her across another smaller road.

‘Yes. Been with them for two years now.’

Fay, conscious of his grip on her arm, said, ‘What do you do? Other than play in the orchestra?’

At the pavement he stopped, released her.

‘Don’t you know? I thought you did.’

Mystified, she shook her head.

‘No – are you in the accounts or something?’

He wondered if what he was about to say would count against him.

‘I’m in the police, the railway police, acting detective.’ He left out the constable bit.

Fay looked amazed.

‘Really – how exciting. Do you track down thieves and things?’

Tom shrugged. ‘Yes, among other things.’

He decided not to tell her about the Saturday night drunken
punch-ups
he had to attend on rotation at Paddington & Bristol. Or the
pickpockets
, card sharps and the scams he had to look out for. Instead he said quickly, ‘And you, do you do anything?’