The tea room had fallen completely silent, and with her back ramrod straight, her chin up and her nostrils flaring, Lady Fogg glared furiously at Romily, her lips pursed.
‘Go on,’ urged Romily. Ironically, she welcomed the exchange; she preferred Lady Fogg in full flight than the beaten woman she had allowed herself to become. ‘You can do better than that,’ she taunted her. ‘I guarantee there’s a lot more bile in that poisonous spleen of yours to pour out yet.’
Audible gasps were heard, and if it were possible, Lady Fogg’s nostrils flared even more. And then the most extraordinary thing happened. Laughter rang out, and it didn’t come from the surrounding tables; it came from Lady Fogg herself.
Even more extraordinary, the laughter continued, and in turn Romily began to laugh too. As did those around them. It wasn’t cruel, mocking laughter; it was genuine high spirits at the absurdly comical situation in which they’d found themselves.
When the laughter finally died down, Lady Fogg rose from her chair. She looked horribly like she was about to make a speech.
‘I know there’s been a lot of talk and speculation in the village about me recently,’ she began to say, confirming Romily’s fear, ‘all of which I thoroughly deserve. I behaved appallingly and I couldn’t be more ashamed of what I did.’
She hesitated and looked down at Romily, and as if sensing she needed encouragement, Romily nodded up at her. Why stop her when actually she was doing a pretty good job of explaining herself?
‘I’m well aware that because of what I did I’ve lost your respect, and—’
‘You never had mine,’ someone muttered sotto voce.
‘Shh!’ said somebody else. ‘Let the old dragon speak.’
‘No, no, that’s quite all right,’ went on Lady Fogg, putting a hand in the air. ‘I understand, and I know I have no right to ask this of you all, but if you could find it in your hearts to forgive a very foolish old woman who still has some way to go in learning to be just a fraction as generous-hearted as this woman sitting here with me, I’d be most grateful. There, that’s it. That’s all I have to say.’
She plonked herself back down heavily in her chair, rattling the cups and saucers on the table as she did. A brief hush followed, and then it was broken by the sound of somebody clapping. Another person joined in, and then another, until everybody was applauding.
‘I think that’s your answer,’ said Romily above the noise. ‘You’re forgiven.’
Lady Fogg’s lip wobbled and she reached for her handkerchief again. ‘Thank you,’ she murmured. ‘Thank you so very much.’
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Reluctant to attract further criticism, Lady Fogg had not dared to drive into the village as she would normally, and now, having set off for home together on foot, Romily parted company with her at the divide in the road, where to the right Melstead Hall lay half a mile distant, and to the left Island House about the same.
A good day’s work, Romily decided, with Lady Fogg’s words of gratitude still playing in her head. She knew from personal experience what it felt like to be the focus of gossip – the tongues had barely stopped since she’d made her first appearance in the village – but whereas it was water off a duck’s back for Romily, it was very different for somebody of Lady Fogg’s ilk. Her standing in the community mattered to her, and only time would tell if she would change her behaviour to ensure she was no longer a figure of fun and disrespect.
At the sound of an engine behind her, Romily glanced over her shoulder. Seeing an RAF staff car approaching, she moved over onto the grass verge of the narrow lane to give it room to pass. But it didn’t pass; instead the driver gave the horn a friendly pip-pip and brought the Austin 10 to a stop alongside her.
‘Darling, I’d know those elegant legs and determined stride anywhere!’ came a voice from the open passenger window. It was Sarah, with Tony next to her behind the wheel of the car.
‘What on earth are you doing here, Sarah?’ asked Romily, taking in her friend’s shorter haircut and smart blue uniform, thinking how transforming it was. She looked quite debonair and very at ease in the well-fitted tunic, but then Romily would have expected nothing less. In Sarah’s hand, resting on the sill of the car window, was a cigarette – smoking was a habit neither of them had taken to in the past, but evidently her friend had now adopted the habit.
‘Coming to see you, of course,’ said Sarah. ‘Hop in!’
‘I hope it’s not a bad time to land on you like this,’ said Tony, looking at Romily in the rear-view mirror once she was settled on the back seat.
‘Of course it’s not a bad time,’ said Sarah, answering on her behalf. ‘Never is between chums. Am I right, darling?’
‘You’re right as always,’ said Romily with a smile, happy to see her friend. ‘But presumably you haven’t come all this way just to see me, and more to the point, what are you doing hitching a ride in an RAF staff car?’
‘I flew in a couple of hours ago. Had to deliver a trainer to the good wing commander’s airfield. Makes a welcome change from risking hypothermia on the usual run up to northern parts. But today was a doddle: breakfast in Hatfield, lunch in Suffolk, and dinner at Island House, I’m rather hoping,’ she added with a laugh. ‘During which I plan to lure you away from your country idyll. You did get my last letter, didn’t you?’
‘Indeed I did.’
Sarah twisted in her seat to look at Romily in the back of the car. ‘I wasn’t kidding when I said the RAF underestimated the number of pilots they require to move training aircraft around the country. Just ask Tony here. And trust me, it won’t stop there; before too long, demand will be such that us girls will be needed to ferry operational aircraft too.’
Romily exchanged a look with Tony in the mirror as he slowed his speed and turned into the driveway of Island House. ‘It’s true,’ he said simply.
‘Sarah, I can’t,’ said Romily later that evening when Tony had returned to the airfield and it was just the two of them sitting in the boathouse. They’d brought their tumblers of whisky with them, and though the day had been warm, the night air had a chill to it, and so they were wrapped in woollen blankets as they looked out over the still moonlit water of the lily pond. ‘You know I can’t leave Island House,’ she reiterated, ‘I have commitments here now. I’m responsible for a child; I’m her guardian.’
‘But as you said, that’s only the case until her father returns.’
