It had been raining heavily all day. Norah and the children left on a morning train; Norah giving Ted a huge squeeze as she said goodbye. ‘I’d visit again, before the line closes, Teddy, but with the baby coming I don’t think I’ll be able to. But I’ll telephone you every fortnight. Or more often – Charles has been talking about having our own telephone installed.’
Ted smiled. It would be good to think that Norah could be on the end of a telephone line at all times. ‘That would be lovely.’
‘And meanwhile, chin up, and get that letter to Mr Hornsby written.’
‘I will.’
Norah bundled the children onto the train, admonishing the boys for leaning out of the window and getting themselves wet in the torrential rain, then she did exactly the same as she waved a last goodbye. Ted felt a pang of sadness as she left. It would be the last time she’d be able to visit him here. The last time the children would be here at Lynford. Ted wondered if they’d remember their visits at all when they grew up. It felt like the end of an era. When, and where, would he see her next?
The rain had grown steadily worse. Huge puddles were forming on the trackbed between the rails. When the 12.45 arrived, Bill reported flooding at Lower Berecombe. ‘If it gets much worse, I’ll not be able to get through. Should be all right from here to Coombe Regis, and I’ll have a go at getting back again, but if the rain doesn’t let up, it’ll be the last service of the day, I reckon.’
Ted was shocked. In all his fifteen years as stationmaster he’d only twice known trains to be cancelled due to bad weather – once when heavy snow had drifted across the line at Rayne’s Cross, and once when the line between Lower Berecombe and Lynford had flooded, in a storm like this one. It was the lowest point of the track, and if the water ran into the tunnel it was not safe for the train to pass through. There’d been talk of improving the drainage along that section of the line, but in recent years the railway company had not seemed to want to spend any money on maintenance. Of course, now he knew why. Ted supposed they’d known for a long time that the railway’s days were numbered.
‘I’ll telephone the station at Lower Berecombe and see how bad things are,’ Ted told Bill. It wouldn’t do for a train to get stuck or slip on the rails. There was a climb out of Lower Berecombe, up onto the moors at Rayne’s Cross. If trains were to be cancelled, it was best they were stranded at the ends of the line – either at Coombe Regis or Michelhampton.
As Bill’s train pulled away, Ted went to the telephone and called Lower Berecombe. It was as Bill had said. Some floods, but all right for now. An hour later he gave the go-ahead for Bill’s return journey. It might be the last train through.
A thought struck him. How would Annie get home? Maybe it was one of the days when Bertram collected her from work, rather than her catching the train. He hoped so. Otherwise she could be stranded in Lynford.
In the goods yard, the rain meant all work had to be suspended. Ted sent Fred home early, to the boy’s delight.
Thirty minutes later the Lower Berecombe stationmaster telephoned with the news that the flooding there was now so bad no more trains could pass through until the rain stopped and the water drained away. Ted looked at the sky that seemed even blacker than it had been. Not much chance for the 17.21, then.
*
Annie came bursting in through the station door, shaking her umbrella which looked as though it had not done much to keep her dry on the short walk from the National Provincial Bank. ‘Oof, what a day! It’s coming down in stair-rods out there. I’m soaked!’ She sat on a bench and stuck her wet feet out in front of her.
As usual, she was the only passenger to turn up for the 17.21. The only passenger whom Ted would have to inform of the cancellation. He straightened his stationmaster’s cap, came out from behind the ticket-office counter, and stood in front of her.
‘I’m sorry to have to inform you that due to inclement weather the 17.21 to Michelhampton has been cancelled.’ It was the wording advised by the railway company’s handbook, but sounded horribly formal when spoken aloud.
‘Cancelled? Oh no! Why? What time is the next train?’
‘The next one is due at 18.45,’ Ted replied. ‘There’s flooding on the line at Lower Berecombe. The trains can’t run until the water has drained away.’
Annie looked dubiously out of the window. Water was running down the ticket-office window in a sheet, due to a broken piece of guttering above. Something else Ted needed to fix himself because the railway company wouldn’t, he realised, making a mental note.
‘And is the next train likely to run on time?’ Annie asked.
‘If the rain stops soon, there’s a chance.’ A thought struck him. ‘How about I make you something to eat, and then I’ll telephone up the line and find out what the situation is.’
‘I must get home tonight,’ Annie said. ‘But yes, it’d be lovely to have something to eat. I had to work through my lunch break today, as we were short-staffed in the bank.’
‘You can use the station telephone if you need to tell your father you’ll be late,’ Ted offered. ‘And I’ll find you something dry for your feet.’
She smiled, her bright sunshine smile, which made him think the rain and the storm and the cancellations were all worth it, just for that smile. If only she wasn’t engaged to that Bertram chap. He’d be so happy at the prospect of an hour in her company.
He showed her where the telephone was, then went to find her a towel, something dry for her feet, and to prepare some food. He returned with a cup of tea and a pair of oversized socks. ‘Will you slip these on over your stockings, perhaps? To keep your feet warm.’
‘Thank you. I have telephoned my father.’
‘Please, come and sit in my parlour. It’s warm in there, I have a good fire going.’
She followed him through, put her shoes near the fire to dry, and made herself comfortable on his sofa. She tucked her feet in his thick woollen socks under her as she cradled the mug of tea in both hands. She looked so at home. If only it was her home.
He prepared a quick supper of boiled potatoes and cold pork pie, which they ate with plates balanced on their knees in front of the fire. Annie asked why the line flooded and what could be done about it, and listened intently as Ted described how there was a little dip near Lower Berecombe, and if the stream overflowed its banks the water would run across a field and onto the track, settling on that low point. To solve it, he explained, the railway company would need to put in some proper drainage and bank up the side of the stream there so that flood waters were diverted away from the track.
‘But of course, they won’t do it now, not now the railway’s due to close. At any rate, this is only the second flood I’ve known in nearly sixteen years working at this station.’
She tilted her head on one side and looked sadly at him. ‘Such a shame you will have to move on. Nothing will be quite the same.’
She’d never looked more beautiful, he thought, than she did right now, sitting in his parlour with her feet tucked under her. ‘I must check on the status of the next trains,’ he said. He didn’t want to drag himself away, but he was on duty still, and duty must come first. ‘Please, stay here while I make a few telephone calls.’
Outside, the rain was still lashing down, and rumbles of thunder promised more to come. News from Lower Berecombe was as expected – no chance of any trains making it through the flooded part of the track for the rest of the day. A call to the area manager at Michelhampton confirmed that all services on the branch line were suspended until the following morning.
Ted returned to Annie with the unwelcome news.
‘What shall I do?’ she asked. ‘Is there anyone driving to Michelhampton, perhaps?’
Ted shook his head. ‘Not in this weather at this time of the evening, I shouldn’t think. Perhaps you will need to spend a night in Lynford, at the Lynford Arms hotel?’
Annie made a face. ‘I hate that place. Bertram took me there for dinner once. It was awful and the whole place feels dirty. I should hate to spend a night there. Is there really nowhere else?’ She looked up beseechingly at Ted, her huge blue eyes like pools he could drown in.
‘I know of nowhere else in Lynford … perhaps Mrs Collins’ guest house but she opens up only for the summer months …’
‘Do you have space here? I could curl up on this sofa …’
Ted felt that familiar blush rise up his neck and across his face. Annie, spend the night in his station house?
‘Yes, I have space … I have a spare room upstairs, in fact … but … w-would it be quite p-proper?’
She giggled. ‘Oh Ted, I have embarrassed you, haven’t I? But look, we’re not Victorians, we’re grown adults, friends, and it’s perfectly acceptable for one friend to stay with another, especially in exceptional circumstances like this. I should love to take your spare room for the night, if that’s convenient.’
He smiled. ‘Of course it’s convenient. I shall make up the bed now.’
*
Ted wrote a hasty sign to post on the station door, advising any would-be passengers that all trains were cancelled until the following morning. Not that he expected there would be any passengers, but it was part of his duty. Then he locked the station door, passed through the parlour nodding at Annie, who still sat curled up on his sofa, leafing through a magazine she’d pulled out of her handbag. He went upstairs to the spare room, which had only been vacated by Norah and Margot that morning. Thankfully he had another set of sheets, and he made up the bed as quickly as he could, paying attention to making the corners as neat and tight as he could. He found a clean towel to leave out for her, drew the curtains and put fresh water into a pitcher beside the bed. If only he could put some flowers in a vase for her, but the rain would have flattened everything outside. When the room looked as neat and cosy as possible, he went back downstairs. He had no more duties that evening. Just a few hours to spend in Annie’s company before they retired to bed.
In the parlour, Annie was still curled on the sofa, but she’d put her magazine down and was biting her lip, looking as though she was nervous about something. When she saw Ted she held out a hand to him and smiled, making room on the sofa beside her. ‘Come. Sit with me. Let’s chat. For once we have hours, don’t we? No need to keep an eye on the train timetable! The storm has done us a favour, perhaps.’
He sat beside her, his senses tingling at being so close. His sofa was only a small two-seater, so her feet, still tucked beneath her, were pressed against his thigh. She’d kept hold of his hand too, so their joined hands rested on her ankle. They chatted easily, of this and that, the weather, local gossip, whether the new king should give up his lady friend Mrs Simpson or not. After a while she groaned a little. ‘Mind if I stretch out my legs?’
‘Not at all,’ he replied, thinking she meant to stretch them in front of her, onto his footstool, but instead she twisted around sideways on the sofa and put her legs across his lap, her feet resting on the arm of the sofa. There was nowhere for his other hand to go, other than to rest on her shin. Her smooth silk-stockinged shin, warm to the touch. It felt so intimate. He blushed yet again, and knew that she saw he had, for she smiled and shook her head a little.
‘This is cosy, isn’t it?’ she said.
‘It is, y-yes,’ he replied, with a little break in his voice. It was wonderful. A whole evening with Annie, this closeness, this familiarity. It was perfect.
‘It’s funny,’ she went on, staring into the fire, ‘I can’t quite imagine sitting like this with Bertram.’
Her mention of Bertram acted like a jug of cold water thrown over Ted. He pushed her legs off his lap and stood up, pacing over to the fireplace then turned to face her.
‘Annie this is wrong. You shouldn’t be here. You are an engaged woman.’
She held out a hand to him again. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned Bertram. Let’s pretend I didn’t. Come back beside me, dear Ted.’
He shook his head. ‘No. It is wrong. We can’t forget about Bertram. He is the man you are … going to m-marry.’
She turned her face away and pulled out a delicate lace handkerchief that she’d had tucked up her sleeve. He realised with surprise there was a tear running down her cheek. Had he made her cry?
‘What is wrong? What have I said wrong?’ He wanted to sit beside her again, to take her in his arms and soothe away whatever had upset her.
‘I wish I hadn’t mentioned Bertram. I don’t want to think about him.’
Ted frowned, trying to work out what to say to make things all right, to bring back that sense of cosiness they had briefly had. Before he could frame a question to ask, she spoke again.
‘It’s Father. It’s all his fault.’
‘Because he wants you to marry Bertram?’
‘Yes. His business is in trouble. He’s been struggling since the Great Depression. And Bertram’s family business is doing well. His father is retiring and Bertram is taking over. If I marry him, the two businesses can merge, and Father will retire with plenty of money. If I don’t marry Bertram, Father’s business may well fail, and he could be made bankrupt. There. Now I’ve told you. That’s why Father is making me marry Bertram.’
Ted wanted to write down her words and study them, to help him understand. He’d thought her father was a successful businessman, with plenty of money. Norah had guessed at money worries, he recalled.
‘So what I’m saying is, dear Ted, that I don’t want to marry Bertram but Father is putting such pressure on me to do it. To save his business. It’s my duty. It’s not what I want, but it’s what I have to do, to save him from bankruptcy. The shame of it would kill him.’
Love versus duty. Just like the dilemma facing the King – pulled one way by his heart, the other by his sense of duty. He nodded, and then slowly sat down again next to her. She shuffled along, making more space for him, and he noticed that she was being careful this time that no part of her touched him. She was even leaning sideways a little so that their shoulders didn’t touch.
‘It is wrong, if you are being forced to marry someone you don’t like,’ he said carefully.
‘I like Bertram well enough. He’s a decent enough chap. I don’t love him though.’
‘Like him enough to be married to him?’
‘Ah, that is the question. I had thought so. And then I got to know you.’ She reached out and took his hand. ‘Do you think we’d make a good couple, Ted? You and me. Me as a stationmaster’s wife. Can you imagine it?’
Ted couldn’t trust himself to answer. There was nothing he wanted more. Yet Annie, beautiful, bright Annie, how would she fit into a life in a provincial station? Even if somehow her father allowed it? He never would, though. Not if he needed that merger with Bertram’s business to save his own.
‘I hate him,’ Annie suddenly burst out.
‘Bertram?’ Ted was shocked.
‘No. My father. For putting me in this situation. It was all right, I thought, before I met you. But now it isn’t all right. I won’t do it. I won’t, Ted! I’ll break it off with Bertram. I’ll tell Father he has to find some other way to sort out his financial mess. He can’t just use me like this! It’s not fair.’ She was distraught now, dashing away her tears with the back of her hand.
Ted’s heart was breaking for her. He reached out and pulled her towards him, twisting her around so that she was lying against him, and wrapped his arms around her, hoping that by holding her like this he was comforting her, taking away her pain.
‘No,’ he said. ‘It isn’t fair. You should … m-marry for love. Not for duty.’ There. He’d said it.
‘You’d marry me tomorrow if I was free, wouldn’t you, dear old Ted?’ she asked quietly.
He nodded, gazing into her eyes, feeling as though he would drown in them.
‘Kiss me,’ she said, lifting herself up a little.
He placed a kiss on her forehead, relishing the feel of her soft skin beneath his lips, but she shook her head. ‘No, kiss me properly. The way you would if we were married. I want to know … how it feels.’
‘Does Bertram not kiss you?’ Ted asked, before he could stop himself.
‘Let’s forget all about Bertram tonight. I told you, I’m going to end it with him. Now, Ted. Kiss me.’
He leaned over to reach her, and softly, gently, placed his lips on hers. She was warm and soft and yielding. He put a hand under her head to help support her, and she snaked her arms up and around his neck, pulling him closer into her, deepening the kiss. On and on it went, until Ted felt he could stand no more, his body was on fire, every sinew and muscle and vein crying out for more of her …
At last she ended the kiss, panting a little, her face flushed. ‘Well, Ted Morgan, that was quite a kiss! I think if we were to wed, our marriage would be a very happy one.’
‘Will you, then?’ he asked. ‘Marry me, I mean?’
She cocked her head on one side. ‘I will. But you must ask me properly, some other time. When I’ve sorted things with Bertram, and we’ve had chance to go on a few dates, perhaps. When you know … where you’ll be working after September. And when my father’s business is … more secure. Maybe he can merge with Bertie’s business even without the marriage. I’ll talk to him. I’ll make him understand. Maybe … things will work out …’
‘Should I speak to your f-father? Ask him for your hand?’ Wasn’t that how it was normally done? The idea filled him with horror but if it was the right thing to do, then he would do it.
She shook her head vehemently. ‘Oh, no. That wouldn’t do at all. You must leave it all to me.’ She reached up to him again and kissed him once more, and all thoughts of Bertram and her father and her father’s precarious finances flew out of Ted’s mind.
*
Ted lay in his narrow, single bed a few hours later, unable to sleep, reliving every moment of that glorious evening. There’d been more kisses, laughter, discussion of whether it’d be a good idea to have a pet cat, and what flowers Annie would decorate the station with. She’d painted them a future, one that he could not wait to come about. It was going to happen. He just needed a new job, at another station in a larger town. They had not mentioned Bertram or Annie’s father or his business again. It had felt to Ted as though they were in a warm cocoon, just the two of them, while the storm outside raged on. Nothing could touch them in his cosy little station house.
And then the thunder and lightning began. The storm seemed so close – just seconds between the flashes of lightning that lit up the room and crashes of thunder that seemed to shake the tiles on the roof. Ted lay on his back, listening to it, wondering whether Annie was asleep. Surely she couldn’t be, not with this amount of thunder. She’d proclaimed herself delighted with her place in the spare room and had kissed him goodnight before closing the door. Not that he’d expected … of course he’d not expected anything more. The evening with her, the kisses and intimacy – they were all he could hope for, until she’d had chance to break things off with Bertram. It was only fair.
There was another, huge crash of thunder, and then the door to Ted’s room flung open and Annie came in, wearing the old shirt he’d lent her as a nightdress, her hair loose about her shoulders, her eyes wide and frightened.
‘Oh, Ted, I can’t stand it! I was always afraid of storms. Silly, I know, but please … hold me?’
He pushed back his covers ready to get out of bed, but she crossed the small room before he could, and slipped into bed beside him. ‘Hold me, Ted.’
He wrapped his arms around her, trying to keep his pelvis away so she could not feel the effect this was having on him. Lord, did she not know what she was doing?
But it seemed she did, for she pushed herself up against him, moaning softly, moving against him in an unbearably exquisite way, kissing him with a new depth of passion. ‘Ted, Ted. Make love to me. As if … as if we were married. It’s the only way … to help me forget the storm.’ She whispered between kisses.
‘But should we? It’s not proper …’
‘Oh, you and your not proper! I said before, we’re adult, we’re not Victorians. We’re practically engaged, aren’t we? We’re going to be married. So what if we jump the gun a little? Don’t push me away, Ted, please. I know you want me, as much as I want you, and you love me, don’t you?’
He nodded.
‘Well then. I want to know what it’s like. With you.’ And she wriggled beneath him, tugging up her shirt, pushing down his pyjamas and taking hold of him, and a moment later he was there, inside her, melting into her, the past and future all forgotten, and she was panting and moaning and clutching at his hair and he was moving up and down, in and out, finding a rhythm that seemed to please her as much as him, and working up to that final, explosive, exquisite moment when there was nothing else in the universe only the two of them becoming one.