Enduring Passions (3 page)

He took a deep breath, guessing that, dressed as he was they would not realize he was on company business. But he was in no mood for niceties, not with this bloke. But frustratingly he couldn’t stop himself shooting a glance at her. She was wearing a cream coat with a high collar that framed her head, her eyes and lips made even more alluring by the net veil of the hat. The madness this woman seemed to engender in him
had
to come to an end. With a supremely professional effort he managed, ‘Good afternoon, sir.’ He looked at her and touched his cap
acknowledged
her with, ‘miss’ and kept walking.

‘Well, I’ll be damned.’

Jeremy watched his retreating back.

‘Must have had enough.’

A still stunned Fay finally pulled a face. ‘Don’t be silly, Jeremy, he’s not afraid of you.’

That seemed to annoy him. He gave her a funny look. ‘What’s the matter with you?’

Fay carried on walking, relieved to see Tom was all right – apart from the shiner. She hoped he was looking at her as she found the first-class carriage and started to board. She gave a quick glance in his direction, and was disappointed to see he was talking to the guard. Inside she walked down the side corridor, following the sound of laughter to find their compartment. She settled into a cut moquette seat with a generous arm rest and a white antimacassar, resolving to find out about him
somehow
.

It wasn’t long before the guard’s whistle gave three shrill blasts and with a jerk the coach started to move. The sound of the engine’s laboured puffs increased then died back, to repeat again as they picked up to
walking
speed, and lurched over the points.

Jeremy drew the sliding door shut, closing off the racketing echo of the wheels in the long corridor.

‘Soon be home, eh, I fancy a drink already.’

He brought out a hip flask and offered it to her.

Fay shook her head. ‘Not for me,’ but there were plenty of takers. When he’d had another swig he screwed the top back on.

‘You taken a liking to Mellors?’

Fay frowned. ‘Mellors?’

Jeremy lounged back with a dark grin on his face as the other men shared in his mirth.

‘
Lady Chatterley’s Lover
– he’s the gardener.’

‘Jeremy, what are you talking about?’

‘Don’t you know the book? I read it in Paris – unexpurgated.’

She began to lose patience and turned to look out of the window.

He said, ‘It’s all right by me, my darling. I’m a man of the world. Every girl should be allowed to have her day – as long as what’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the….’ His voice tailed off.

Fay vaguely began to perceive what he was hinting at.

‘Jeremy – that’s disgusting.’

The others laughed and to her extreme annoyance she felt her cheeks reddening.

She stared fixedly ahead, looking at a sepia-tinted view of
Weston-Super-
Mare. All the other scenes on the carriage wall above the white antimacassars were views of seaside resorts served by the GWR – she could not have cared less.

Her mind stayed on the boy – somewhere on the train behind her – and what Jeremy had hinted at.

They rocked gently along, the smoke and steam of the engine
becoming
trapped in the depths of a narrow cutting and clouding the window. Later it lifted away to roll across the open fields. After ten minutes there was the squeal of brakes as they lurched to a halt at Cheltenham South – Leckhampton Station. Somewhere a door slammed. Surreptitiously she looked out of the window as one or two people passed. To her relief he wasn’t one of them. Rattled by her reaction she looked around. The others didn’t seem to have noticed.

The train laboured on its way, through fields and hills and woods, the tiny stations a roll call of Cotswold beauty spots. Finally, Cirencester was the next stop. Although Fay couldn’t be sure, he didn’t appear to have got off the train.

They began to slow down on a gentle curve into the station. Everybody stood up chattering and making tentative dates.

Eventually a platform slid into view, backed by a wooden picket fence. A Camp Coffee sign went past, then the station building itself appeared. With a final squeal of brakes they ground to a halt. Doors opened and slammed shut as a porter shouted ‘Cirencester – Cirencester Watermoor.’

A girl jumped up and down, waving. Beyond the station, Fay could see cars lined up on the forecourt and Wilson standing beside the Alvis.

The corridor was crowded with people getting off. Fay stepped down on to the platform, Jeremy, supporting her arm, said, ‘I’ll organize the luggage.’

They walked towards the back of the train where porters were already stacking cases and trunks on to the platform and then on to barrows as members of their party pointed them out.

Fay had just spotted her three when she became aware of
him
,
standing
in the doorway to the guard’s van, right on top of her.

Even though she had been on the look-out for him, the unexpected closeness came as such a shock, that Fay found she couldn’t breathe
properly
. He looked into her eyes, for the first time close to. Something passed between them, something that had not been there before. They were like that for what seemed seconds before Jeremy snapped, ‘You again.’

Tom dragged his eyes from her. ‘I might say the same about you,
sir
.’

There was no escaping the sarcasm.

‘Now just a minute you. Who do you think you’re speaking to?’

Tom stepped down on to the platform and moved right up to him. Although Jeremy was a few inches taller he flinched slightly –
remembering
the last time. The face in his said, ‘I suggest you get your luggage and be on your way, sir. The train needs to leave.’

Jeremy’s lip curled.

‘Since you are obviously a railway employee you can help us with our luggage.’

Slowly Tom turned back to her. Their eyes locked again. Fay still seemed to be having trouble with her breathing, her chest rising and falling with the effort, but she managed to say, ‘That would be very
helpful
– I’m Fay Rossiter. You’ll find my name and address on the labels.’

The voice was softer than he remembered, but still with a posh accent.

And suddenly he realized what she had done. From those red lips below the net, she had given
him
her name and where she lived –
intentionally
.

With a rush of adrenalin that overcame his shyness, he nodded.

‘It will be a pleasure, Miss Rossiter, I’m Tom Roxham based at St James’s.’

Jeremy frowned. ‘Now look here …’

Excited and unnerved by what had just happened, Fay moved towards the exit.

‘Come along, Daddy’s waiting.’

Tom found her bags, picked them up. There were enough of them. Struggling, he suddenly noticed the grinning guard. Tom jerked his head.

‘Blow your whistle and get out of here.’

The man nodded. ‘You’ll be lucky, that’s Lord Rossiter’s daughter.’

Irritated, Tom humped the heavy suitcases away. The man was right, of course, what on earth was he doing – even thinking about?

But somehow it made no difference. He followed them through the wooden floored booking-hall with its fire glowing in the grate, and out on to the forecourt, eyes never leaving her slim figure.

They stopped by a two-tone car, with sweeping wheel arches; the bottom half burgundy, the top black. A tall distinguished man in a
camel-hair
coat and wide brimmed felt hat greeted her with open arms. ‘Darling, welcome home.’

‘Daddy.’ She lifted up her face.

He put his arm around her and gave her a kiss on both cheeks, before extending his other hand to Jeremy.

‘And you, my boy. Thank you for looking after her. So what’s all this about some trouble?’

Jeremy turned and glowered at Tom, who had just struggled up.

‘Well, sir,’ but Lord Rossiter interrupted him. ‘Ah, the bags, put them in the boot please, Wilson will show you.’

He turned back to Jeremy but a shocked Fay heard herself say in a voice that Tom could hear, ‘Oh Daddy, could I go back to Cheltenham next week? I can stay at 15 Imperial Square – Aunty says so. It’s just that a wonderful new collection of clothes is coming into Cavendish House that I don’t want to miss.’

Her father frowned but his attention was distracted again as the boot lid slammed shut. He always kept change in his pocket and found a tanner which he slipped into the man’s hand.

‘Thank you for your help.’

Tom looked down at his palm, then up at Lord Rossiter who had already turned back to Fay.

‘Cheltenham? Well, I’d hoped you would come with your mother and I to Lady Woods’s soirée in London and then the next day we could see the latest Noel Coward play.’

Fay looked past her Father and met Tom’s eyes. ‘Oh Daddy, that would have been lovely – but you and Mummy will have a much better time just the two of you. And in any case, I have been invited to a dinner party Lucy Bates is giving – you remember, she was in my class at school? I said I would be around after the shopping.’

Her Father grinned. ‘Ah, that’s the real reason is it? You going too, Jeremy?’

Jeremy opened his mouth to say ‘no’, but Tom tapped Fay’s father on the shoulder.

‘Excuse me, sir. I am not a porter. Very kind of you, of course.’ With that he gave the sixpence back to a bewildered Lord Rossiter, looked meaningfully at Fay and gave a slight nod, then turned on his heel. The older man watched Tom’s retreating back.

‘I’ll be damned – who is he?’

Jeremy gave her a scowl, but held his tongue when he saw the
warning
flash in her eyes, and said dismissively, ‘Just somebody who was on the train, sir. He was travelling in the guard’s van. A bit rough – he’s got a black eye somebody gave him – you can understand why, can’t you?’

Lord Rossiter paused as the chauffeur held the rear door open. ‘I certainly can. What a strange fellow. In you go, darling. Can we give you a lift, Jeremy?’

Fay sat in and slid across the leather seat, joined by her father as Jeremy leaned in.

‘Thank you, sir, but I’ll walk.’

He looked across at Fay. ‘I’ll speak to you soon, Fay. We have things to discuss.’

She raised one eyebrow. ‘Have we, Jeremy?’

He nodded. ‘We have.’

He turned his attention to Lord Rossiter as he closed the door. ‘Goodbye, sir.’

The car moved off.

Her father looked at her, smiling, and asked, ‘My dear, is he going to pop the question?’

Fay pulled her chin in and said simply, ‘Good heavens, I certainly hope not.’

Disappointed, Lord Rossiter frowned.

‘He’s very eligible, my dear, a nice enough chap, you could do a lot worse. Oh, I know he’s not titled, but the family is solid county stock and they are very comfortably off.’

She looked away, her mind utterly in turmoil about quite another man.

Fay was glad she was sitting down, because her legs felt weak at what she had just done – giving her name and telling him where he might find her next weekend. Something about Tom Roxham, she savoured the name, deeply attracted her. There was a strength in his blue eyes – an intensity that seemed to go right into her. He was broad shouldered and rugged and she knew he was capable of violence – at least when provoked. If he wanted to kiss her when they met she wouldn’t be able to stop him – he would be far too strong for her. So she wouldn’t resist, would she?

She shivered, and despite the warmth of the car pulled her coat further round her as if to protect herself against her own silly fantasies. They were totally alien to her and filled her with guilt.

She came out of her reverie to find her father looking at her.

‘Sorry, Father, what did you say?’

He sighed.

‘I see you were dreaming again. I asked you to give some thought to the future. Your music is important, but a marriage would give you a secure base, and a family is the best thing in the world for a woman. It’s her anchor in a cruel world.’

‘Very well, Father.’

It was difficult to imagine anything more opposite to what she had been thinking about. Her body was afire with something far more elemental than thoughts of a good marriage.

The car turned past the Lodge and drove along the tree lined drive. Codrington Hall stood in the weak winter sunshine; the light reflecting from the leaded Tudor windows set in the warm limestone walls.

Here she felt secure. Inside, her mother would almost certainly be in the sewing-room doing her latest piece of needlework, and Fay could soon be seated at the grand piano in the music-room. In a way it would be the perfect antidote to the fires raging in her body.

But what about the weekend?

What did she think would happen?

Oh God, the delicious weakness came over her again.

Tom watched the car disappear out of the yard, his notebook in his hand,
ink still wet from what he had hastily written. Fay Rossiter, 15 Imperial Square, plus Codrington Hall, Bagendon, Cirencester.

‘Fay’ – he savoured the name.

What the hell did he think he was playing at? She was upper class. There was no way she was going to take him seriously.

But she had given him her name, there was no doubt about that and the address. What did she want of him? What was it all about? He was normally painfully shy, utterly lacking in experience of girls, except for childish kisses and fumbles behind the bike sheds at school when he was a kid.

Had he gone mad? Taken leave of his senses? He felt immensely excited – and at a complete loss. She was incredibly beautiful and with the hat that she had been wearing – eyes and long lashes behind the net and her red lips unguarded beneath its edge, she had started a raging storm that had made a tidal wave of his hormones.

It was only as he made for the station master’s office to begin what he was there for that he realized he’d left his brown weekend case on the train. By then it was just a plume of steam and smoke as it made its way to South Cerney. He ran to the office, tapped on the door and went straight in. He found himself confronting the startled station master.