The Hills and the Valley (35 page)

Her head was spinning. But suddenly she was thinking of Huw. Why couldn't it have been
Huw
proposing to her? Oh why …?

‘I'm very honoured,' she said and her voice sounded strange and stiff to her own ears. ‘But you'll have to give me time to think.'

‘Of course. It's your birthday next week, isn't it?'

‘That's right. You are taking me to the Sadlers Wells Ballet at the Theatre Royal to celebrate – remember?'

‘It would be rather nice if we had something else to celebrate as well wouldn't it? Like an engagement?'

‘Marcus, you are rushing me.'

‘Sorry. But – oh Barbara, I do love you.'

She felt serene suddenly, as serene as Lady Erica, but floating on a little cloud somewhere between heaven and earth. She leaned across and kissed him lightly.

‘Goodnight, Marcus. And thank you for everything,' she said.

The serenity lasted only until she was inside the front door. Then her head was spinning again.

Marcus had asked her to marry him. Marcus Spindler, Hillsbridge's golden boy, the most eligible bachelor in the district. She should be over the moon. She should be, but …

I don't love him, do I? thought Barbara in confusion and a small voice inside her, the voice of reason began to argue with her.

Don't you? What is love anyway? You like his company. You go funny inside when he kisses you.

Huw! What I felt for Huw was love!

But Huw doesn't want you. If you can't have Huw you might as well settle for Marcus. At least that way you would forget Huw and all your silly dreams.

Oh – I don't know. I don't know!

Write to Huw. Tell him you are thinking of marrying someone else. Give him one last chance. If he still doesn't want you …

That's what I'll do. I'll write to Huw.

But first she told Maureen. She simply could not keep the news to herself, much as she intended to. Maureen was ecstatic.

‘Oh Barbara, you must marry him! You'd be a fool not to!'

‘Yes, I know, but …'

‘But nothing! You can't turn down a chance like that! Can I be bridesmaid? I could have a pink dress! I've always wanted to be a bridesmaid!'

‘Oh, I don't know …'

‘What does Mum say?'

‘Mum doesn't know yet. And you are not to tell her.'

‘Why not? Oh, it's so exciting! He's so super! Really gorgeously super! I wish somebody like him would ask
me
to marry them. I wouldn't need asking twice. But I don't suppose anyone ever will.'

‘Don't be so silly.'

‘Marry him,
please
Barbara!'

‘Don't keep on. And don't tell Mum.'

‘All right.'

But of course she did.

To Barbara's surprise Amy was cautious.

‘Don't rush into anything, darling,' she warned. ‘You're not eighteen until next week. You've got all your life ahead of you. I'd hoped it would be a long while before you thought of getting married.'

‘People do get married quite young, especially when there is a war on,' Barbara said. Amy's opposition was turning her into devil's advocate. ‘You weren't much older than me when you married Dad.'

‘I was twenty,' Amy said severely. ‘There's quite a difference. And I
seemed
much older than you.'

‘That's probably because you insist on treating me like a little girl. And I'm not.' She was warming to the idea. It made her feel good to have someone like Marcus wanting to marry her and it restored some of the self-confidence she had lost since Huw's rebuttal. Love on the rebound was not a term Barbara would have used but it was what was happening to her all the same.

When Huw's reply to her letter came in the same envelope as her birthday card its contents were exactly as she had feared.

‘I am very glad to hear that you have found someone else,' Huw had written. ‘All I have ever wanted was what is best for you. Dear Barbara, I hope you will be very happy.'

She had thought she would cry when she knew for certain there was no more hope but she did not. Perhaps she had already shed all the tears from that particular well. But she did sit for a very long time staring at the letter and feeling the dark hollow inside her grow and spread. So that was it. There could be no more doubts, no more foolish secret hopes. A part of her still cried out that she could not understand it, couldn't believe that what had meant so much to her had meant nothing to him. But the facts were indisputable. Huw had turned his back upon that wonderful stolen day as if it had never been.

Had it really been only one day? To Barbara it had seemed like a lifetime and perhaps that was the trouble. It had been no more than a diversion to Huw in the midst of months of hell and she had set too much store by it because that was the way she so desperately wanted it to be. Well, no more. Marcus wanted her. He could salve her wounded pride and heal her broken heart. She could stand up and say to the world – Look! Marcus Spindler wants me for his wife! And in the quiet of the night when the doubts crept in she could remind herself that she could not be so unlovable if someone like Marcus loved her.

I'll do it, thought Barbara. I'll marry him and I'll be the best wife ever. He'll never know it was because of someone else that I hesitated and I'll never give him cause to regret asking me. We'll be happy. Happy even if it kills me. Oh, I'll show that Huw James!

I'll show him! Just see if I don't!

Marcus arrived to take her to the ballet bringing with him an enormous bouquet of red roses.

‘Happy Birthday, darling.'

‘Oh, they're beautiful! Thank you! No one ever gave me red roses before!'

‘You shall have them every year from now on if that's what you want. And on other special occasions too.' His eyes held hers and she read the message there – ‘I love you'. Her heart seemed to lift and she felt a little as if she had already drunk several glasses of champagne. Oh perfidy! Bought for a look of love and two dozen red roses …

But it was wonderful to be made such a fuss of. To be treated like a piece of precious porcelain. To be handed in and out of the car, installed in one of the private boxes at the rear of the dress circle, presented with a beribboned box of handmade chocolates. The music, rising from the orchestra pit to fill every corner of the prettily ornate theatre, throbbed within her and the whiff of greasepaint as the curtain rose heightened her elation and excitement.

The ballet was wonderful, too – Swan Lake with Margot Fonteyn and Robert Helpmann – and Barbara was entranced. This was not something Huw would have dreamed of taking her to – she could just imagine the rude remarks he would make about men in tights – and had she dragged him along he would now doubtless be fidgeting and looking at his watch, not enjoying the performance as Marcus was doing.

During the interval champagne was brought to them.

‘Birthdays should be special,' Marcus said, raising his glass.

She drank, the bubbles tickling her nose.

‘This one certainly is.'

He leaned towards her. ‘How special?'

‘Very.'

‘Very,
very
special?' He paused. ‘You know what I'm asking you, don't you? I know I promised not to press you, but …'

‘Yes,' she said. It was just the right moment. She felt elated, loved, bubbly as the champagne.

‘Yes, you'll marry me?'

‘Yes.' And then, as an afterthought: ‘If Mum will let me.'

‘Don't worry about that. We'll talk her round. Oh Barbara, I am so happy I feel like standing up and announcing it to the whole theatre! Are you happy too?'

‘Yes,' she said, and suddenly she was. One door had closed but another had opened and the world she glimpsed through it was wide and beautiful, a new adventure laid out before her.

The orchestra was striking up again. He leaned over and kissed her, his lips touching her neck beneath the cap of shining golden curls.

‘You'll never regret it, Barbara, I promise you,' he said.

She slipped her hand into his. It felt good and safe. And it never occurred to her that some promises are impossible to keep.

‘Marcus! What sort of a name is that to go to bed on?' Charlotte asked.

‘A very nice name, Grandma. And you need not pretend you have never heard it before because everyone in Hillsbridge has heard of Marcus,' Barbara said. She spoke with asperity but warmth; Barbara and Charlotte had always shared a special relationship since the long ago days when Charlotte had cared for her whilst Amy was working to build up the business and Barbara knew that Charlotte was only being scathing in an effort to conceal her pride. That had shown clearly in her face when Barbara called to tell her that she and Marcus was getting engaged.

Her grandfather's reaction, however, had been less enthusiastic.

‘Spindler, eh? The boss you mean?'

‘His son, yes.'

‘Well, well, I don't know about that.'

‘Aren't you pleased, Grandpa?'

‘No, I don't know as I am,' James said, wheezing a little, and Barbara looked at him in surprise.

Grandpa usually took everything as it came, with a gentle smile that creased his faded blue eyes and some platitude or other. She had no way of knowing that James was totally bemused by the way his descendants had of marrying out of their class or how uncomfortable it made him feel.

It didn't seem right, he thought to himself. He and Charlotte had had a good life – hard work, yes, but they had never owed anybody a penny and there was nothing better than being nice and quiet in your own home. Why the young generation couldn't be content with the same pattern he could not understand.

‘What does Mum say about it?' Charlotte asked.

Barbara pulled a face. ‘She says I'm too young.'

Charlotte sniffed. ‘I thought she might. She's a bossy one, your Mum, but I expect you know that.'

Barbara smiled.

‘You're eighteen now, anyway,' Charlotte went on. ‘I was younger than you when I married your Gramp and we've done all right. Your Mum agreed in the end, I suppose.'

‘She couldn't do anything else,' Barbara said. ‘Marcus asked her so nicely. She keeps going on about not getting married yet, though. She seems to think being engaged is just a game, not serious at all. It's as if she is saying to me – Well, play at it for a bit and then when you get tired of it you can forget all about it and go back to being the way you were. I can't understand her really.'

‘I wouldn't take a bit of notice of her,' Charlotte advised. ‘Long engagements never did anyone any good. Once you've made up your mind you might as well get on with it.'

‘That's just what I say, Grandma,' Barbara replied. Her grandmother had summed up her sentiments exactly. It had taken her a little while to decide to marry Marcus but now that she had she was fired with impatience. It always had been that way with her – planning longterm was for others, Barbara preferred action.

‘Let's have another look at your ring, Babs,' Charlotte said and Barbara displayed it proudly – an enormous ruby set around with diamonds. Marcus had taken her to the grandest shop in Bath to choose it and she had not dared to tell anyone how much it had cost in case they should think she was boasting.

‘When are we going to meet this Marcus?' Charlotte asked, admiring the ring.

‘I'll bring him to see you,' Barbara promised.

‘Here?' James asked in alarm.

‘Why not?'

‘Well, it bain't what he's used to …'

‘Grandpa anyone would think I was ashamed of you!' Barbara laughed and hugged him.

‘Just as long as you're happy, Babs,' Charlotte said. ‘That's all that matters.'

‘Oh I am,' Barbara said and she was. With Marcus's ring on her finger and the promise of a future life in which she would want for nothing she thought she had almost, if not completely, exorcised Huw from her heart.

In July Huw was sent to RAF St Athan for a short course on Harvards and Hurricanes. He had spent the months since his promotion on offensive sweeps over enemy-occupied territories in France and the Low Countries and as bomber escort, his accredited combat victory tally steadily rising, and had been awarded a DFC for his efforts. Now he suspected the change in direction would mean a new posting and the possibility of further promotion, perhaps to Squadron Leader, and he was very glad.

Flying was his whole life now and had been from the moment Amy had broken the devastating news to him which had ended for ever his association with Barbara. It was, after all, a way of finding oblivion from the torment of discovering he had fallen in love with the one person with whom he could never have anything more than a platonic relationship. Sharply alert, eyes scanning the skies for the first sign of danger, every sense strained to breaking point, there was no time for brooding, no emotion left over for yearning after what might have been. He devoted himself to nursing along the new pilots in the Flight, fresh-faced lads many of them, only just out of school, whose keenness to get in on the fight was soon tempered by the strain of flying night after night and whose eyes soon grew to reflect the horror of seeing friends shot down in flames. He wrote letters to the loved ones of those who were lost, packing up more photographs and personal belongings than he would ever care to remember in the years to come. And somehow, through dogged determination, skill and, he admitted, a slice of luck, he managed to remain alive himself, though more than once he had to nurse a crippled aircraft back over the dark waters of the Channel.

Lying exhausted in his bunk he still thought of Barbara, her lovely face taking its place in the parade of other faces which he would see no more and the weight in his heart was almost more than he could bear. And occasionally he broke out in a sweat when he thought of how close he had come to committing that unforgiveable sin whose name invoked such feelings of utter revulsion – incest. Christ, it didn't bear thinking about! Why had Amy not told him before? He'd had a right to know, surely, and if he had known then this terrible situation would never have arisen.