For answer, he checked the way ahead was clear and put his foot down to overtake the bus. She had joked earlier about him turning into Stirling Moss behind the wheel of his new car, but he was actually one of the safest drivers she knew. She trusted him implicitly, and in all things. She always had. If she was brave enough, she might even tell Stanley about Harry, having told no one else about him.
Chapter Six
Fairview, Melstead St Mary
October 1962
Stanley
The house was approached via a long straight driveway flanked by lawns and newly planted beech trees. Hope and Edmund had bought the three acres of land because of its convenient proximity to Melstead St Mary and unrivalled views of the softly undulating landscape. Hope had insisted that the house be positioned squarely in the middle of the plot, as though deliberately isolating it from everything around it. With its partially white stucco walls resplendent in the autumnal sunshine, it stood majestically before Stanley and Annelise.
‘It’s very impressive,’ Annelise said after a lengthy pause. ‘And bigger than I thought it was going to be.’
‘It was always going to be this big,’ Stanley said, watching Annelise carefully to see what she really thought. Her opinion always mattered to him. As did the need to please her and gain her approval. If he could only convince himself that he had her total respect and admiration, he might believe he stood a chance of being her equal. Which in his heart of hearts he knew could never be. Just as he knew it was futile to hope that one day they would be more than just good friends. To Annelise, and many others, he was destined always to be Stanley Nettles, the grubby illiterate evacuee from the East End of London who’d made good.
The plain truth was, despite the education he’d been given and then the long hard years studying to be an architect – all thanks to Romily’s generosity and encouragement – a girl like Annelise would always be out of his league. They moved in very different circles. While she mixed with academics in the rarefied atmosphere of Oxford, a world which, if he were honest thoroughly intimidated him, he preferred his life here in Melstead St Mary with his old village friends.
London had been fine when he’d been studying, and for a brief period after he was qualified and working for an architectural firm, but it hadn’t felt like it would ever be his true home. He was happiest here in the Suffolk countryside, where he’d lived since being put on a train as anine-year-old boy and subsequently deposited at Island House. He’d hated it initially; he’d been terrified of the big empty sky, thewide-open spaces and the unnerving silence. He hadn’t missed his cruel and sadistic mother, though, and when he realised he wasn’t going to be beaten or locked up by anyone at Island House, he grew to love the place.
Now, and working on his own as an architect, he made a decent living here in the village, sufficient for his needs at any rate. The commission from Hope and Edmund to build them a spacioussix-bedroom house with echoes of the Arts and Crafts movement was by far the biggest commission he had been given to date.
He took Annelise down some steps in the garden so that she could have the best view of what he’d designed. Once again, he examined her face for her reaction.
‘It’s beautiful,’ she said at length. ‘And quite unique. I love how the ground floor seems to be made almost entirely of glass, and curves in that sinuous way, and the way the two wings reach out like a welcoming pair of arms.’
He hardly dared ask the question, but he had to. ‘You approve of it, then?’
She turned to look at him, her blue eyes wide and clear in the afternoon sun. ‘What a strange question, of course I do. I love it! I can understand now why Mums is in such a hurry to move in.’
Filled with relief, and pride, he said, ‘Talking of your mother, I’d better get you to Island House before she starts to wonder what’s happened to you.’
‘I wouldn’t worry about that,’ Annelise said, still staring up at the house. ‘She’s probably working and lost track of the time.’
‘What time is Isabella arriving?’
Annelise smiled. ‘I’ve no idea. But you know Isabella, there’s no pinning her down.’
No, thought Stanley, but then the same was true of Annelise.
Chapter Seven
London to Suffolk
October 1962
Isabella
As an actress, Isabella Hartley was more than used to being stared at, but the man sitting opposite her in thefirst-class train carriage was making her feel distinctly uncomfortable. Ever since he’d removed his raincoat and dumped it on the seat next to the one he was occupying, he hadn’t stopped staring at her while pretending to read his crumpled copy of theDaily Mirror. He might just as well have had flashbulbs going off in his eyes for all his subtlety. Some men really had noself-respect.
Mind you, when she thought about some of the things she’d had to do to get where she was, she wondered about her ownself-respect. All those slobbering men she’d had to charm and flutter her eyelashes at. But if that was what it took to get to the top, then she’d grit her teeth and do it. Though she had her limits. Her compliancy only went so far.
Acting wasn’t for the weak; she’d learned that when she was at RADA. It was a world in which only the fittest survived, and she had no intention of not surviving. She wanted to be the best. She wanted the kind of stardom she had always dreamt of since being a child, and nothing was going to stop her.
The man opposite her was still making a lousy job of pretending to read his newspaper. There was a strong smell of alcohol coming off him and a dusting of dandruff on his shoulders. He had moved his legs so that they were stretched towards hers. She pulled her fur coat around her as though it would shield her from his gaze, and pointedly jerked her head to stare out of the window at the passing countryside.
This was a rare few days off for her; it was ages since she had last been home to Melstead St Mary and she was looking forward to seeing everybody. People often didn’t believe her when she said her work schedule was so demanding. But it was. At the theatre six days a week, she seldom made it back to her flat before one in the morning. Her habit was to sleep in until nearly midday, unless it was a day when she had a matinee performance to do as well as the evening one. It was an antisocial way of life.
But for all the hard work and frustration, she had to confess that she loved what she did. Particularly seeing herself on screen. She knew just how to make the most of her looks. Her striking face with its wide cheekbones, full lips and sultry eyes, together with her long dark wavy hair and curvy body, were her greatest assets. She had been dubbed the British Sophia Loren, a moniker she was more than happy to play up to.
