July and August that year were the longest months that Octavia had ever had to struggle through. There was plenty to keep her busy, what with her work with the WSPU and constant visits to Emmeline and her babies, but the time dragged. The only bright patches in her day were when the postman brought another letter from Tommy or she was sitting in her bedroom composing an answer. She tried to persuade herself that it was ridiculous to miss him so much, that she was an adult now and should behave like one, that in any case there was nothing she could do about this parting except endure it, but she missed him miserably despite her most earnest persuasion.
‘How much longer have you got to stay in that horrible Bucharest?’ she wrote at the end of July. ‘They must have made their minds up about you by now, surely.’
His answer wasn’t encouraging. ‘I’ve been offered the position,’ he wrote, ‘but there’s a sort of testing period, to see if I really suit, I suppose, so I’m not likely to be back before September. Not to fret, old thing. We shall see one another soon and I’ll give you a big kiss to make up for being away so long.’
September! she thought. That’s months away. How can I wait all that time until I see you again? Not that she had any option. It was horribly frustrating. It might have been easier if she could have told someone how much she loved him. And she did love him. There was no doubt about that now. But she could hardly talk to her parents about him, except in a general way as Squirrel’s friend. It did occur to her sometimes that her mother was beginning to have suspicions, but that was all the more reason not to talk to her. And her friends were unaware of what had been going on, which was her own fault because she hadn’t told them anything. In ordinary circumstances, it might have been possible to confide in Emmeline, but Emmeline’s circumstances weren’t ordinary. As her third confinement edged closer she grew more and more anxious and depressed.
‘I shall have a bad time with this one,’ she said to Octavia.
‘You can’t know that, Em,’ Octavia said, trying to be reasonable.
Her cousin was beyond reason. ‘Yes I do,’ she said. ‘I can feel it. It’s going to be awful. Oh, Tavy, I wish I wasn’t expecting. It’s so miserable to be all fat and blown up like this. I feel like a porpoise. I probably look like one. I do, don’t I? Go on, be honest. Did you ever see such a fright in your life? And I’ve got the backache and my legs hurt and look at my ankles.’
‘It’ll soon be over,’ Octavia said, hoping to cheer her. ‘It’s only a few more weeks.’ But Emmeline wept all over again and said she knew she was going to have a bad time, and what if she died?
It was a great surprise to everyone in the family when she gave birth easily. It was another daughter and she called her Edith and said she was a little duck and seemed quite herself again within hours of the baby’s arrival.
‘I’ve never seen such a transformation,’ Octavia said to her mother when they were walking home after their first visit. There’d been no letter from Tommy that morning and she was feeling irritable. ‘Yesterday she was saying she was going to die. And now look at her.’
‘We all feel like that when our time’s due,’ Amy said, sagely. ‘I know I did. I was weepy for days.’
‘Well I shan’t,’ Octavia said. ‘All that fuss and crying. It’s no way for a grown woman to carry on. After all, it was what she wanted. Lots and lots of babies. She always said so.’
‘So she did, my dear,’ her mother said mildly. ‘But it’s different when you’re carrying. As you will find out in time I daresay.’
‘No,’ Octavia said mutinously, ‘I shan’t because I’m not going to get married and I’m not going to have babies. The whole business is too ridiculous. Oh, look at all that horrible cloud. Now it’s going to rain. We’d better walk a bit faster or we shall be drowned.’
The next day the weather improved dramatically and so did her mood. The sun shone in the most soothing way and she had two letters at breakfast time, a loving one from Tommy, saying how much he missed her, which was just what she wanted to hear, and an official one from the University of London to tell her that she had been awarded a Bachelor of Arts degree with first class honours.
‘It’s no surprise to me, my dear,’ her father said, beaming at her. ‘What did I always say?’
‘I must phone Maud,’ Amy said. ‘She’ll be so happy for you, Tavy. And she must have heard Cyril’s results by now too.’
Cyril’s results had come out a week ago and it turned out that he hadn’t done at all well. ‘Only a third I’m afraid,’ Maud said. ‘I was going to tell you but Em’s confinement put it out of my head. It put everything out of my head to tell the truth. I’m so glad it’s over.’
I wonder whether Tommy knows his results, Octavia thought. I shall ask him when I answer his letter.
His reply was laconic. ‘Result was a double first as expected,’ he wrote, ‘so the pater has something to show off about. They are pleased at the consulate. At any rate, they tell me my appointment’s in the bag. I’ve no doubt the pater will show off about that too. However, once everything is signed and settled, I have some leave owing. I can hear you saying “and about time too”. I have to spend a fortnight in Italy first but after that I shall be home for six weeks.’
It was the best news she’d had since he went away. Home in two weeks. Maybe I’ll tell Em now she’s in a better mood.
But Em was exploding with news of her own. ‘You’ll never guess what they’ve done now,’ she said, and before Octavia could ask who, she plunged into a complaint. ‘Cyril’s going to Italy for a holiday. Isn’t that sickening? He got a third – did you know that? – lazy thing! – and they’re paying for a holiday as if he’d covered himself with glory. It’s Meriton Major behind it, naturally. Apparently he wrote to Cyril saying he was off on some trip or other all round Italy and would he like to come with him. He’s going for a fortnight. Isn’t it sickening?’
‘Yes,’ Octavia said with feeling. ‘It is.’ It should have been me, she thought, angrily. Why didn’t he write and ask me? I’d have gone with him like a shot and I’ve earned a holiday. I worked. ‘It’s unfair.’
‘I knew you’d agree,’ Emmeline said with great satisfaction. ‘It’s scandalous the way they spoil him. Well, I hope they do the same for Podge when it’s his turn, that’s all. I shall have something to say if they don’t.’
Octavia laughed at that. ‘I’m sure you will, Em,’ she said, ‘and I’ll second the motion.’
But for the moment neither of them could do anything except grumble, which Emmeline did every time Octavia came to visit, all through the fortnight. She was still grumbling when the two young men suddenly appeared in her garden. It was a quiet sunny afternoon and she and Octavia had been taking tea beside the fishpond, with the new baby asleep in her bassinet beside them and Dora and Eddie playing on a rug in the shadow of the apple tree. And without a word of warning there they were, striding across the lawn, looking tanned and foreign, carrying a lot of odd-shaped parcels and smiling as if they expected a welcome.
‘Good heavens above!’ Emmeline said. ‘Look what the cat’s brought in!’
‘’Lo, Sis!’ Cyril said. ‘We’ve brought you some presents. There are some super things in Italy. Look at this, Dotty Dora. This one’s for you.’
‘And this is for you,’ Tommy said, standing in front of Emmeline and bowing to her in his old-fashioned way. ‘Sweets to the sweet!’ And he handed her a box of bonbons. It was tied with an elaborate striped ribbon and looked rather grand and very foreign, with its odd colouring and its strange curlicued writing. ‘First present we bought, wasn’t it, Cyril?’
‘What?’ Cyril said, and then noticed that Tommy was giving a hint. ‘Oh yes, I suppose it was.’ But it was plain to Octavia that he didn’t mean it because he was fidgeting with eagerness to give one of his presents to Dora, who was clinging to his legs and bouncing with excitement.
‘Well, thank you very much,’ Emmeline said, opening the box. ‘It’s very kind of you, Tommy. I didn’t expect presents. Oh, look at these lovely sweeties, Eddie. Shall we have one? Or shall we keep them until after dinner?’ If Ernest had been at home there would have been no choice. The box would have been put away at once, sternly, and temptation removed. But because it was mid-afternoon and he was away at work, they could do as they pleased. She pinched one of the little chocolates to see if it was soft-centred and as it was popped it into the little boy’s mouth. ‘Try that. It’s delicious.’
‘This one is for you, little Dotty Dora,’ Cyril said and handed her one of the odd-shaped parcels.
Being a sturdy two-year-old, she insisted that she could open parcels ‘Misself!’ and did so, although very slowly and with some difficulty. The toy that emerged from the wrapping paper was worth the struggle. It was a camel made of rough sand-coloured cloth with black button eyes and thick fur eyelashes, wearing a splendid saddle caparisoned in crimson and gold.
‘He’s come all the way from Venice,’ Cyril told her. ‘Do you like him?’
‘Much,’ the child said and flung her arms round her uncle’s neck to prove it.
The lawn was littered with wrapping paper, for there were presents for everybody, even the baby. All three children had muslin dresses from Milan; Eddie had a hobbyhorse from Rome; the baby, who had slept through homecoming and present giving and all the noise and movement around her, snug in her bassinet, was given a wooden rattle ‘for when she got bigger’.
‘And this is for you,’ Tommy said, handing his last parcel to Octavia.
It was very soft and felt squashy under her fingers, so she knew it was cloth of some kind, but for a second she felt too confused to open it. From the moment he’d come striding into the garden looking so handsome and carefree, she’d been torn by such conflicting emotions that she hadn’t been able to find a word to say. It was wonderful to see him again. She was flooded with love for him, aching with it, but she was cross with him too. He ought to have taken her on holiday with him, not Cyril. Even if he’d been minding the conventions, which was possible, she had to admit, he should at least have asked her and given her the chance to make up her own mind about it. He was sensitive enough when it came to Emmeline’s feelings – she’d actually been quite touched by the way he handled Squirrel, so the least he could have done was…
‘Open it, Tavy,’ Emmeline urged. ‘Don’t keep us in suspense.’
‘Go on,’ Tommy said. ‘Open it. It won’t bite you.’
It was a paisley shawl, rather old-fashioned and intricately beautiful, woven in shades of pink, lilac, buff and smoke blue and heavily fringed.
‘Lots of colours,’ Tommy said, ‘so it’ll go with anything.’
‘It’s gorgeous,’ she told him. And that was nothing less than the truth. ‘Thank you very much.’
‘Cyril got a kiss for his camel,’ he teased her.
‘That,’ she told him steadily, ‘is because Dora is two and can kiss whom she pleases.’
‘I thought you were unconventional.’
She was recovering her balance by then and could tease. ‘Only in matters political.’
‘Well now,’ Cyril said, ‘what shall we do with the rest of the afternoon? Tell you what, let’s go on the heath. I haven’t been on the heath for two whole weeks, I hope you realise.’
‘And whose fault’s that?’ his sister said sternly. ‘You shouldn’t have gone rushing off all over Europe.’ But she agreed that a walk in the fresh air would do them all good and went off at once to summon her nursemaids and have the new perambulator prepared for the baby. ‘Button boots for Eddie and Dora, if you please, Mrs Greenacre, and their reins of course, and we’ll take the old perambulator to get them there.’
They left the house in procession, first the nursemaids pushing the two prams with the bonneted toddlers sitting in one and baby Edith now wide awake in the other, then Emmeline and Cyril, walking together in an almost friendly way, and bringing up the rear, Octavia, in her splendid new shawl with Tommy beside her. As they reached the end of the street, he offered her his arm, daring her with those dark eyes, and since it was a family outing, she took it.
They dawdled until they were out of earshot of the others. ‘Have you missed me?’ he asked.
‘Now and then,’ she said lightly. ‘I’ve had a lot to do with the cause and Emmeline and everything.’
‘I’ve missed you every single day,’ he said. ‘It’s super seeing you again. I haven’t kissed you for months, I hope you realise.’
‘Two months, one week and three days,’ she said, ‘to be accurate.’
‘Rebuke taken,’ he said. ‘You’re a corker, Tavy. Supper tonight?’
‘Come on, you two slowcoaches,’ Emmeline called. ‘Catch up. We’re going to see the swans.’
So they saw the swans, and Cyril took off his shoes and socks and rolled up his trousers. He took Eddie and Dora paddling in the ponds while Em fed the baby in the discreet shade of a tree. They found a ‘Stop me and buy one’ and bought ice creams and snofrutes, and both the children got extremely sticky, and Em said she couldn’t think what their father would say if he could see them.
‘Just as well he can’t then,’ Cyril said. ‘Eh, Tavy?’
‘Oh,’ Em said, ‘this is such fun!’
‘I’ve thought of a good wheeze,’ Cyril said to his sister when the heath had been trodden to exhaustion, and they were wandering slowly home again. ‘What d’you say we all go down to Eastbourne for a seaside holiday like we did in the old days? You and me and the babies and Tommy and Tavy. And Podge too. He could come down at weekends. All of us. My treat. High time you had a holiday, Em. Swimming, donkey rides, that sort of thing. How would you like that, little Dotty Dora?’
‘You’ve just had three years’ holiday,’ his sister said. ‘Not to mention a fortnight in Italy. Life’s one long holiday with you.’
‘It’d be fun,’ he urged. ‘You’d come with us wouldn’t you, Tavy?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’d love to.’ Which was true, especially if Tommy was coming with them. ‘But you’ll have to let me pay my way.’
‘And you too, Tommy?’
‘Rather!’ Tommy said, grinning at Tavy. ‘With the same proviso of course. I’m all for donkey rides and Pierrots on the pier and all that sort of thing.’
‘A holiday!’ Emmeline said longingly. ‘Do you think Ernest would allow it? I haven’t been away from home since I got married.’
‘Tell him it will be good for the children,’ Octavia said practically. ‘He might be glad to see the back of them for a week or two.’ And it would do them good to get away from him, poor little things.
So it was agreed and the impromptu holiday was booked. In fact Cyril wrote to their old landlady that very afternoon and posted the letter on his way home.
‘There you are,’ Tommy said to Octavia as he drove her back to South Park Hill. ‘Five weeks’ holiday together. What could be nicer?’
‘Five weeks’ holiday alone together,’ Octavia said. ‘We shall be ankle-deep in babies and nursemaids. We shan’t have a second to ourselves.’
‘Leave that to me,’ he said. ‘I’ve got plans.’
‘What sort of plans?’ she asked. He had the most devilish expression on his face.
‘You’ll see,’ he said.
So they all went on holiday: Em and the babies and the nursemaids by train, with Podge and Cyril to escort them and to lift the prams out of the guard’s van; and Tommy and Octavia following in his car with any bits of luggage that hadn’t been sent by ‘passengers’ luggage in advance’.
Emmeline said a five week holiday was such a luxury that she couldn’t believe it. The boarding house was smaller than they remembered it, so small in fact that when Tommy arrived he unpacked the bags, took one look at the room he’d been allocated and drove off at once to find a bigger room for himself in a hotel, pointing out that Cyril always took up ninety per cent of the space in any room he occupied and that he’d got to leave some room for Podge. But apart from this unaccountable shrinkage, nothing else had changed at all. The donkeys were still there, standing in the same patient lines on the beach or stolidly plodding the same well-worn hundred yards of sand; the band played its usual afternoon medley in the bandstand; and the Punch and Judy man still set up his stall at the top of the beach, this time to squeals of delight from Dora and little Eddie. And the weather was superb. Even when there was a shower – as there was that first afternoon – the rain fell quickly and thickly and then passed on, and the sun was so strong that the promenade was dry again in minutes. All three babies took to their new seaside existence as though they’d been born underwater; their nursemaids were there to watch over them while their mama slept in a deckchair; Uncle Squirrel was much in demand for sandcastles and treats; and Uncle Podge, fourteen years old and blushingly diffident in his school boater and a new striped blazer, was a willing slave for piggybacks and paddling. Within that first day a pattern had been established that suited all of them. Or nearly all of them.
On the second afternoon, Tommy announced that he needed a nice brisk walk. ‘Can’t sit around all day,’ he said. ‘I need a bit of exercise or I shall get stout.’
‘Oh!’ Emmeline said, squinting up at him from her deckchair. ‘Do you want us all to come with you?’
‘Good lord no,’ he told her. ‘You stay where you are and have a rest. Cyril’ll look after the babies, won’t you, Cyril? Tavy’ll keep me company. We shan’t be gone long.’
They climbed to the top of Beachy Head, where a strong breeze was blowing and they could see for miles along the coast. As soon as they were on their own and out of sight of the path, he put his arms round her waist, pulled her close and began to kiss her.
‘Sweet,’ he said, holding her ardent face between his hands. ‘Sweet! Sweet! Sweetheart!’
‘Am I?’ she asks, drowsed with the joy of being kissed again.
He stroked her lips with his mouth, languorously, enjoying the delicate touch as much as she was and delighted to see that he was making her tremble. ‘Of course.’
The breeze was so strong it pushed her old straw hat right off her head and pinned her new summer dress immodestly tight against her legs. But she didn’t care. It was a beautiful, richly coloured, dizzying, magical September day and she was so happy to be back in his arms that she wouldn’t have minded if she’d been swept off her feet. Which in one sense she was.
‘Oh, my darling Tommy,’ she said, when he lifted his head to look down at her. His eyes were dark with desire and so beautiful she had to shut her own eyes for a second to shield herself from their impact.
‘Good to have me home?’ he asked, knowing the answer.
‘Wonderful.’
‘Have you missed me?’
She was too caught up in sensation to tease or prevaricate. ‘Yes.’
The breeze threw a giggle of voices towards them. ‘There’s someone coming,’ she said, pulling away from him.
He smiled at her, pretending to be annoyed but still holding her round the waist. ‘Drat!’
‘No, hush!’ she said, removing his hands. Two bonnets were bobbing into view on the slope of the hill followed by a rather splendid striped boater. ‘We must be sensible.’
‘I don’t see why,’ he pretended to complain. ‘If we were in Paris on the boulevards we could kiss whenever we wanted to and nobody would raise the slightest objection.’
‘But we’re not in Paris,’ she said, pulling her hat onto her head again and walking on. She had to push against the wind and her dress flicked behind her like a sail.
‘More’s the pity,’ he said, walking beside her and doffing his hat to the newcomers. ‘Tell you what. How would it be if we went down to the Grand for an hour or two? We could be really private there. I’ve got a capital room.’
The suggestion made it difficult for her to breathe. ‘Do you mean – stay there with you?’ she asked. She couldn’t say what she was really thinking. She hadn’t got the vocabulary. But they both knew what he was proposing. This was what he’d meant when he’d told her he’d ‘got plans’.
‘Well, not overnight, naturally,’ he said, smiling down at her, enjoying her flushed cheeks and startled eyes. ‘That would put the cat among the pigeons. But we could go there in the afternoons, when we’re supposed to be out walking. Don’t worry, it’ll all be perfectly proper. You won’t get nasty looks or anything like that. They’re expecting my wife to join me. I told them as much when I booked.’ And when she gave him a quizzical look he explained, ‘Had to, old thing, or they’d have wondered why I wanted a double room. I said you were looking after your cousin – well, that bit’s true at any rate – and you’d join me when you could. It’s a nice room. You’ll like it. Just right for a Mr and Mrs. There’s a sea view and everything. I’ve got you a ring to wear so it’ll all be perfectly proper.’
‘No it won’t,’ she told him seriously. ‘It’ll be a lie. I could put any number of rings on my fingers but it wouldn’t mean anything. We’re not married.’
‘No,’ he said equally and passionately serious. ‘We’re not. But if you come with me now, we’ll be something better. We’ll be lovers.’ And since the strollers had disappeared over the brow of the hill, he pulled her towards him and kissed her long and lovingly. ‘You will, won’t you, Tavy? Oh, my lovely, lovely Tavy, you will.’
It wasn’t sensible, or proper. The sensible thing to do would be to wait until they could get married and have a wedding with flowers and bridesmaids and interminable speeches like Em…(oh, for heaven’s sake, like Em!). This was foolish and dangerous and unconventional. Oh, wonderfully, exhilaratingly, temptingly unconventional. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I will.’
He held her so tightly he made her breathless all over again. ‘You won’t regret it,’ he said. ‘I promise you.’
The walk to the hotel was slow and amorous for they were arm in arm and stopped for kisses whenever the street was clear. And it was a very grand hotel indeed, with a uniformed doorman and a hall porter to give them their key and a curved flight of softly carpeted stairs to lead them the way.
‘Heavens!’ Octavia said, as they walked into the room. It too was thickly carpeted and very luxurious, with a pretty washstand, an enormous bed and beautifully curtained windows overlooking the sea – everything a visitor could possibly want or need. It was so richly decorated that at first glance, it looked more like a rose arbour than a room. There were roses everywhere, patterning the carpet and the curtains and the wallpaper, stencilled on the washstand, arranged in a plump vase on the little round table by the window in all their natural beauty. ‘What luxury! It’s downright decadent.’
‘And so it should be,’ he said. ‘It’s our love nest.’
She took off her hat and threw herself backwards onto the bed, sinking into the softness of it. ‘Heavens!’ she said again. ‘It makes my bed at Mrs Norris’s feel like a plank.’
‘Sleep with me,’ he promised, removing his blazer, ‘and you shall have feather beds for the rest of your life.’