Enduring Passions (14 page)

‘That’s the one. Capital.’

They chattered lightly about nothing of consequence until four glasses of finely bubbling wine were placed before them. Lord Rossiter picked his up first and looked straight at his wife.

‘Let’s have a toast, to Fay and Jeremy – their future.’

Her mother repeated the toast.

Fay smiled weakly, a little irritated at the coupling, but at least it wasn’t something more embarrassing – you never knew with daddy.

The meal was very good, her father insisted on an excellent port with the stilton cheese, despite all the wine she had consumed, so she was quite tipsy by the time they were back in the car, squeezed up against Jeremy yet again. The latter laid his hand across the back of the seat as they drove home.

Somewhere along the way it must have happened. She wasn’t even aware of it, until they were in the drive and her father turned around and said, ‘Good to see you young people getting close.’

It was only then that she realized that Jeremy had a hand around her shoulder.

She sat bolt upright, unfortunately giving the impression that she was embarrassed by being caught out.

When they pulled up at the entrance and Simpson opened the door for her mother, she slid rapidly across the ribbed leather after her and got out, pulling her fur wrap tightly around her shoulders as she did so.

But Jeremy was faster. Already beside her, as her father said, ‘You’ll come in for a nightcap, old chap?’

Jeremy turned to look at Fay, as if seeking her approval, but she was already on her way to the opened front door. Inside a maid took her wrap. She yawned extravagantly.

‘I’m very tired, I’m going to bed.’

She kissed her mother on her cheek, then stood on tiptoe to give her father a peck as he stooped for her, saying, ‘Oh, are you sure? I thought you and Jeremy would show up us old things and spend half the night talking?’

She smiled as sweetly as she could, debated swiftly in her mind how to say goodbye and finally held out her hand.

‘Goodnight, Jeremy, thank you for being with us, I enjoyed your company very much.’

With that she made for the staircase.

‘Goodnight, Fay. See you soon.’

She called out over her shoulder, ‘Yes, of course, look forward to it.’

She wished she hadn’t added that bit, trying to be polite. As she climbed the stairs she heard her father saying, ‘You must come to lunch tomorrow – after matins.’

She winced. What was the matter with her father? As if she didn’t know.

Later, tucked up in bed, she looked at the photograph of herself and Tom.

Eventually she kissed his image, slid it under her pillow and turned out the light.

She went to sleep with the alcohol in her blood fueling thoughts about his strong arms around her lightly clad body, her breathing only slowing as she finally drifted off.

He enjoyed a bit of a lie-in, getting up finally at ten to nine to be greeted by the delicious smell of fried bacon.

His gran was at the range, tea towel over her shoulder, dutch apron on.

‘Morning Tom. Ready for your breakfast?’

It was a Sunday tradition in the household: bacon cut by the big, red, hand-driven slicing machine from the corner shop; eggs from a
neighbour
; a little bit of black pudding from the sawdust-floored butcher together with a couple of slices of fried bread.

‘Yes please, Gran, I’m famished.’

She set the plate down in front of him. He tucked in immediately, a book out on the table beside him.

‘What’s that you’re reading?’ she asked.

His Father, the
News of the World
open, reading all the court cases of the week looked up as he said, ‘
Theory of Flight
, Gran.’

His father snorted. ‘Why the hell are you filling your head with that rubbish and wasting good money?’

Tom had felt the resentment before and said resignedly, ‘It’s the future, Dad, and in any case, I want to.’

With another snort his father returned to his reading. He’d just come to a particularly salacious part where the private detectives had caught the Honourable Teddy Houghton in bed with a well-known lady. She had, in reality, been hired to lie in a revealing nightdress with him,
without
any other service being provided, in order that he might be ‘caught’
in delicto flagrante
. That way the divorce could go through.

Tom scoffed the lot and added a chunky slice of white bread with
lashings
of home-made blackberry jam. All washed down with a mug of stewed tea. He closed the book and stood up.

‘Right, I’m off. Put my dinner in the oven, Gran. I’ll be in a little late.’

His father didn’t look up, just said, ‘First a funny-shaped football, now this flying – you’re getting above yourself, Tom. Mark my words, no good will come of it.’

Tom paused in the doorway behind his father, winked and grinned across at his gran as he said, ‘See you at
luncheon
, Grandmother.’

Half an hour later he was on the grass strip again, lining up the nose of the Tiger with the tree, noting that there was a ten degree cross wind that hadn’t been there yesterday.

Trubshaw’s voice crackled in his ear. ‘Right, let’s see if you’ve
forgotten
how to do it.’

He hadn’t.

As they climbed away Trubshaw mentally ticked off the first of the points he had set in his head before he let Tom go it alone.

He made him do a few circuits and bumps then climb to 10,000 ft, before doing stalls and recovery, followed by forced landing procedures.

‘Right, take us down and enter the circuit, land and taxi in.’

Tom frowned, it was a bit early, but he didn’t say anything, perhaps Trubshaw’s wife had been getting at him.

He did a text book landing and taxied to the hangar. Trubshaw’s voice came over the R/T. ‘Bring her round into the wind and keep the engine running.’

Puzzled, Tom did as he was told then, to his astonishment, Trubshaw undid his straps, levered himself out of the cockpit, leaned back in and did the straps up again. He then jumped off the wing and came back to stand beside Tom.

He leaned closer and shouted above the idling engine. ‘Right off you go, try a circuit of your own, and for God’s sake don’t bend the machine – it’s more valuable than you are.’

He looked at Tom, po-faced for a second or two, then burst into a grin.

Tom sat there still numb, until Trubshaw suddenly yelled, ‘What are you waiting for? If you don’t go soon I’ll change my bloody mind.’

With that he stepped well back and waved Tom away.

He taxied out, feeling weird looking at the emptiness of Trubshaw’s seat. He lined up with his favourite tree, went through his checks, then with a sinking stomach he opened the throttle and held the stick forward, managing to keep in line with his tree. The tail came up and in no time at all he was airborne, the wind whistling in the quivering bracing wires. Trubshaw’s absence was frightening.

Later, he could hardly recall the circuit. He just remembered turning on the final leg, then lining up for the approach, adjusting for the
crosswind
, selecting flaps, and then bleeding off the speed.

The boundary hedge went by underneath him then he panicked as the ground came rushing up at him. He heard himself yelling, ‘Check her, check her,’ as he pulled the stick back. There was an almighty thump, the plane leapt back into the air, then came down again with a smaller thud, followed by another tiny one that ran into the continuous shuddering of
landlocked motion. He was down safely and nothing had been broken.

As he taxied back to the waiting figure by the hangar it really began to dawn on him that he had actually soloed. He’d flown on his
own
.

As he switched off the engine and deafening silence descended, Trubshaw held out his hand. ‘Well done.’

Tom shook it.

As he cycled home he kept saying to himself, ‘I’m a pilot,’ even once calling it out as he passed a bunch of bewildered schoolboys on their way to Sunday school.

He was so thrilled that he thought of telephoning Fay, even going so far as dismounting and counting his change. He had enough. But then he realized it might cause her a lot of embarrassment and, reluctantly he got back on his bike.

Fay was embarrassed enough already. They’d been to church, sitting in the pews reserved at the front and had listened to a sermon on the evils of the flesh and the way the very fibre of society was being weakened by divorce.

Now, out in the cold but sunny day, she was standing around as her father and mother talked to the vicar, congratulating him on his sermon. She was embarrassed by the fact that the rest of the congregation was backed up inside, waiting dutifully until they moved on. Her father was like that though, very old school. When they finally came towards her she was reading a tombstone.

They drove home to find Jeremy’s car in the drive. Cheerfully, her father said, ‘Ah good. Nice to have that young man with us again. It’s a solid family and he’s an interesting chap.’

Fay did not respond. The dogs rushed out to greet them.

‘I’ll take them down to the stables.’

Her mother frowned. ‘Don’t be long – luncheon in half an hour.’

Jeremy was in the conservatory reading the papers.

‘Good morning,’ boomed her father, ‘or I suppose its afternoon now, though I don’t feel that that’s right until I’ve eaten.’

Jeremy, dressed in sports jacket and cavalry twills, grinned. ‘I agree, sir. Good afternoon, Lady Rossiter – Fay.’

She smiled, but couldn’t help saying, ‘You’ll be living here soon, Jeremy.’

It was a mistake Fay realized, as soon as she had said it. Her father gave a hearty chuckle, and glanced at his wife as he said, ‘Well now, that’s
understandable, isn’t it, my dear? You’re always welcome, Jeremy, always welcome.’

Fay winced. How long would this blatant matchmaking go on?

‘I won’t be long, Mother.’

As she made for the rear entrance, her father said, ‘Jeremy, why don’t you go with her?’

The dogs raced around on the short grass as they walked towards the stables.

Jeremy said nothing for a while, just threw the ball for the Springers who competed in a flurry of leaping bodies, hanging tongues and the occasional snap.

At last, he said, ‘Fay, I wanted to ask you something – away from your parents.’

‘Yes, Jeremy.’

She expected it was going to be a plea to accompany him to some sort of shindig – probably a weekend house party, with all that that implied.

He threw the ball again and the dogs raced away.

‘I wondered if we could get things sort of on a more permanent basis – an
understanding
if you like?’

Hurriedly he went on, ‘Not straight away, of course, but I would like you to consider becoming my wife.’

Fay was stunned, found herself floundering hopelessly.

‘Jeremy, I’m really flattered – but honestly, I’m not ready for that sort of commitment just yet. I’m so excited about this trip and the job and everything I’ve just not thought about anything like that.’

Her mind was racing. There was no way that she could say she was already engaged.

He frowned. ‘I’m not expecting you to immediately drop everything, Fay, not at the moment anyway. Please do whatever you need to do, but when you come back we could, perhaps, make a formal announcement – even maybe a spring wedding?’

Such detail suddenly alarmed her. She had to do something decisive, stop it before it got out of hand.

Fay stopped and faced him. ‘Jeremy, it’s very nice of you, and I do value your friendship very highly, but I’ve never considered you as anything but a very good friend, one of the crowd.’ She took a deep breath, ‘And I’ve told you a lie – there is somebody else.’

His jaw dropped. It occurred to Fay that he had never seriously considered such a possibility.

When he finally spoke he said hoarsely, ‘Who is it?’

She was evasive. ‘Nobody you know.’

Roughly, he grabbed her arm. ‘That can’t be possible.’

There was a harder edge to his voice.

Her chin came up. ‘Well, it is true – it’s no one from around here.’

His eyes bore into her. ‘Your parents certainly don’t know about this.’

Getting angrier, Fay pulled her arm free. ‘How do you know that?’

‘Because I asked permission from your father to pop the question today – that’s why.’

She swallowed, irritated by the noise it made. ‘Father never listens to me – always thinks he knows better.’

She whistled for the dogs. ‘I’m sorry, Jeremy, but that’s the way it is.’

He stood rock still, fists clenched as the Springers came bounding up.

‘So you are saying there is no possibility….’

She shook her head. ‘No – none. I’d be misleading you, Jeremy. I’m in love with somebody else.’

He just stood there for a second or two, then without another word spun on his heel and walked rapidly towards the house.

She wondered whether to follow him, but as the dogs fussed around she picked up the discarded ball and flung it away from the house.

She needed time to think and to cool down. What sort of reaction was she going to get? Her mother and father would be shocked, although she had hinted of somebody she had met at the fictitious party in Cheltenham. Hadn’t her father taken it on-board when Jeremy was asking for her hand? She shook her head resignedly. Daft thing to ask – she knew her father when he got the bit between his teeth. He’d wanted Jeremy all along.

Eventually she arrived back at the door to be confronted by a very dark looking father. ‘Fay, are you mad, turning down Jeremy?’

She looked around, seeing only her mother. ‘Where is he?’

‘Gone.’

‘Gone?’

Exasperated her father said, ‘Yes. He couldn’t face being where he wasn’t wanted.’

She tried to lighten the atmosphere. ‘Oh, that’s silly. He’s a very good friend, I wouldn’t dream of hurting him, but really, asking me to marry him – it’s ridiculous.’

Lord Rossiter was suddenly icy calm. ‘And just why is asking for your hand in marriage so ridiculous?’