Tony had offered to be their chauffeur, but having saved sufficient petrol coupons, Romily had opted to drive to the concert in her MG. It was a beautiful spring evening, and with the top of the car down and their headscarves tied firmly in place, she and Hope set off in good time to meet him at the Angel Hotel for a pre-concert drink.
‘I still can’t believe the news about Lady Fogg,’ remarked Romily when they passed the entrance to Melstead Hall. ‘What could the stupid woman have been thinking?’
‘I almost feel sorry for her,’ said Hope. ‘She’ll never live this down, she’ll be the laughing stock of the village.’
‘I suppose we should hold on to the old edict about not throwing stones in glass houses. I know for a fact that Mrs Partridge stocked the larder up in advance of war being declared. She won’t have been the only one to do that.’
‘Yes, but what goes against the grain is Lady Fogg lecturing the rest of us about doing one’s bit, that it’s all hands to the pump, while all the time she was doing quite the opposite and looking out for number one. How did she think she would get away with it? That’s what baffles me, especially as she has such a poor reputation for the way she treats anyone who works for her. Did it really not cross her mind that one of them would try to get even with her?’
‘I think we can safely call that a classic display of arrogance born out of inbred contempt for the lower orders,’ said Romily, enjoying the sensation of freedom as she drove along the narrow lane, the sound of birdsong just discernible above the engine of her MG. ‘It’s the very thing I can’t tolerate. Jack couldn’t either. It was one of the many things that attracted me to him, his complete lack of airs and graces.’
Hope smiled. ‘That’s one of the things that Arthur always held against him, his unconventional desire to ignore the rules by which others played the game. On one occasion Dad turned up at Arthur and Kit’s school for some play or other in a butcher’s van. He’d forgotten all about the play, and when he did remember, he leapt into his car only for it to break down some ten miles from the school. He then hitched a ride from a local tradesman. Arthur was mortified and never lived it down. Frankly I thought it showed Dad in a good light; another father might have given up altogether.’
Romily gave her a sideways glance. ‘That’s the first time I’ve heard you recall your father with something akin to fondness.’
A moment passed before Hope replied. ‘I think it’s only now that I’m allowing myself to remember the good times with him,’ she said. ‘I’d buried them deep the day we fell out over Dieter. After that happened, I needed to hate him, which is a terrible admission.’
‘But wholly understandable. I know without a shred of doubt that he would have given anything to put things right with you.’
‘Dieter was much more forgiving of him than I was. He always believed that my father would come round to our marriage, that he just needed time. I can hear him now telling me that the memory of fighting in the Great War had of course left an indelible mark on Dad, and that we had to be patient.’
‘He was right.’
‘I know, but like Dad, I can be a stubborn devil when I want to be. I’ve certainly been stubborn over not wanting to relinquish Dieter.’
With a change of gear as she increased her speed, Romily said, ‘I don’t think you have to; more like you need to reach a stage of acceptance. Easier said than done, I know. It’s something I’m going to have to do myself. I have to be grateful I had that time with Jack. Better that than nothing at all.’
‘That’s how I’m beginning to feel, whereas before I would have regarded a shift in my emotions like that as a betrayal. I would have punished myself for daring to think that way. The funny thing is,’ Hope went on, adjusting her scarf, ‘Kit more or less said that in his letter that came today. He knows me better than I thought he did.’
Romily took her hand off the steering wheel and patted Hope’s forearm next to her. ‘That’s often how it is: we underestimate other people’s insightfulness. Probably because we’re so blinded by the dark to which we’ve subjected ourselves.’
‘But you didn’t strike me as being consumed by your grief for Jack,’ Hope said after Romily braked hard and swerved to avoid a rabbit darting across the road.
‘I came close to it,’ she said, her foot pressing down again on the accelerator so that she had to raise her voice above the throaty roar of the engine, ‘but there wasn’t time to succumb fully to the pain, not with suddenly having a house full of guests. With hindsight, I can see it was a blessing having you all there, almost as if Jack knew it would help, knowing that unless I have a challenge to overcome, I don’t feel whole.’
‘I suspect that your charming wing commander might see you in a similar light: as a challenge. One has to admire his persistence.’
Romily tutted. ‘And there you go again, Hope, busily fishing with your little net.’
‘At least I’m not pretending to be subtle about it.’
‘Well, and with equal frankness, I could ask if you are beginning to regard Edmund as more than just an old chum?’
A small smile playing at the corners of her mouth, Hope said, ‘I might be.’
‘Good.’
Tony was waiting for them at the entrance to the Angel Hotel. His hair was pushed back from his broad forehead, and he was wearing a white dress shirt and a dinner jacket, a white carnation in his lapel. Romily had to do a double-take to make sure it really was him; he appeared so very different.
‘If a thing’s worth doing, it’s worth doing properly,’ he said in response to Romily’s comment about his attire. ‘And if I may say, ladies, you both look jolly smart yourselves. Now then, what would you like to drink?’
Their drinks ordered at the crowded bar – sherry for Hope, and whisky and soda for Romily and Tony – he indicated a table in the window, but before they could reach it, a crowd of fellow musicians similarly dressed in formal evening wear intercepted him.
‘No wonder you sloped off so fast,’ joked a fair-haired man with a wink at Tony. ‘You had these two beautiful ladies hidden up your sleeve. Which I call damned sly of you.’
‘Allow me to introduce Guy Lance,’ said Tony, ‘the worst violinist your ears are ever likely to be subjected to, but not a bad pilot, I’m pleased to say.’
‘You’re too kind, old chap.’ The man, who was younger than Tony, shook hands first with Hope and then with Romily, holding onto her hand for a moment longer than was necessary, at the same time letting his rakish gaze sweep over her – a thoroughly disagreeable gesture that did not go unnoticed by Tony, Romily noted.
