14 May 1946
Diana carefully placed the wicker basket down on the grass and sat down next to it, folding her long legs by her side. She leant over the basket and peered in. A tiny beaming face, swaddled in a great whorl of cashmere, peered back at her.
She was meant to be in mourning.
The news of her father’s death had come out of the blue. A noisy crack breaking years of silence. Mourning wasn’t easy, though. Not after being shut out of his life for all these years. And how could anyone mourn when there was Evie? Diana looked down at her baby daughter and smiled. What was it Keats said? Something about a shape of beauty moving away the pall from our dark spirits. Evie was her shape of beauty. Her balm.
‘Oi! Are you day-dreaming again?’
It was Arthur, bringing supplies.
‘Oh, I think I must have been. Sorry!’ said Diana, looking up to see her husband walking towards her.
‘You were staring at Evie,’ said Arthur. ‘She must have hypnotised you.’
‘Yes, I think we might have an enchantress for a daughter,’ said Diana.
‘Well, she gets it all from her mother,’ replied Arthur, sitting down next to Diana and kissing her. He leaned over the basket, looking at Evie. ‘And how is my lovely little fairy?’ he said, bending in and kissing her on the forehead.
‘She’ll be turning frogs into princes before we know it,’ said Diana.
‘Really? Well, she’s not the only one around here who can do magic. Close your eyes.’
Diana smiled and did as she was told.
‘No peeping,’ said Arthur, starting to unpack the bag.
She drummed her fingers on her summer-honeyed arms, listening to assorted rustles and chinks, happy to play along.
‘Can I open them yet?’ she said after a while.
‘No! Hold on, nearly there,’ he replied, taking out the last few items. ‘Okay, you can open them now.’
Diana opened her eyes to see two Scotch eggs, two ham sandwiches, two packets of crisps and two bottles of beer all laid out on one of her best gingham tea towels.
‘A feast! Wonderful!’
Arthur smiled broadly.
‘It’s nothing fancy,’ he said.
‘Nonsense,’ said Diana. ‘It’s perfect. Just what I wanted.’
‘Really? You sure you wouldn’t rather have some of your fancy French food?’
‘Absolutely not,’ said Diana. She reached for a Scotch egg and took a big bite. ‘Mmmm, this is good,’ she said, smacking her lips noisily.
‘Hey, did nobody ever tell you it’s not polite to speak with your mouth full?’ said Arthur. ‘I thought you were meant to have been brought up a lady?’
‘I was, darling,’ she replied, taking another bite. ‘And now look at me,’ she went on, chewing and speaking. ‘Lady and the tramp.’
‘Cheeky bugger!’ laughed Arthur.
Diana swallowed, took another bite, and then threw the rest of her Scotch egg at Arthur.
‘Oi!’ he said, ducking out of the way. ‘I’ll tell Mr Jackson what you’re doing with his Scotch eggs! Wasting them like that. Just because you’ve got money to throw around now. It’s all right for some.’
Diana craned her neck back and looked up at the sun.
‘Oh, you’re not going to nag me again, are you?’
‘Yes,’ said Arthur. ‘That’s my job.’
When Diana’s father died, she found that she’d been left a considerable bequest. He hadn’t left her everything (his old school and college had got the lion’s share plus he’d left other odd bits to various staff and local charities), but she’d still ended up with a large pot of money and countless shares. It had all come as a big surprise to Diana. There’d been no contact with her father for years and so she hadn’t expected anything else at all. But then, suddenly, there she was. Rich.
‘You can’t just leave it all sitting in the bank, love,’ said Arthur. ‘Money’s like a man. It needs to work.’
‘I know,’ said Diana, drawing out the word and rolling her eyes.
‘It needs looking after.’
‘Like the cows, you mean?’
‘Very funny. But it’s not really something we should joke about, love,’ said Arthur, reaching over and holding her hand.
‘Yes. I know. You’re right, of course.’ She sighed. She really didn’t feel like another conversation about the money. ‘I’ll go and see old Mr Anderson about it next week.’
Mr Anderson was Diana’s father’s accountant. He’d been with the family for years, overseeing her father’s investments and advising on all matters financial.
‘Mr Anderson?’ said Arthur. ‘But he’s older than the Dales, love. Things have changed since before the war. It’s a different country now. There are new ways to make money. I’ve told you, you should talk to Bob.’
Diana winced. Bob was from Arthur’s football days. The club accountant, officially, but he had his fingers deep in many pies, helping the players at the club build up tidy little nest eggs. He seemed to have a knack with money and the whole team trusted him. But Diana wasn’t so sure.
‘But Mr Anderson is so nice, darling. And reliable. He’s practically Victorian. It’s like having Disraeli look after the money.’
‘But that’s the problem, isn’t it? We’re not Victorians any more. It’s a new world out there.’
‘O brave new world that has such people in it,’ said Diana, having a swig of beer.
‘What?’ said Arthur.
‘Shakespeare,’ said Diana, suddenly feeling tired. She sighed. ‘I’m using my expensive education. Just like Mr Anderson does.’
Arthur looked at Diana. It was different for her. She was used to money. It came and went but then always came back again. She’d never really wanted for anything. How could she understand?
‘I really think you should speak to Bob, you know. He’s the right man for this.’
‘But I just don’t like him,’ said Diana sharply.
‘You should give him a chance. All the boys at the club use him,’ said Arthur. ‘Mr Barrett and the chairman too. And they both know what they’re doing. Bob’s got his head screwed on good and proper, you’ll see.’
‘Are you asking me or telling me?’
‘Don’t be like that,’ said Arthur. ‘I’d feel terrible if we didn’t get in touch with him. It’s not how things are done. You know what it’s like at the club. He looks after everyone and he’ll look after us too. Bob’s our man.’
‘Can’t you just let me get on with it in my own way?’ snapped Diana. ‘I managed perfectly well doing everything by myself all the way through the bloody war.’
‘I’m just trying to help,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘That’s all. For God’s sake, Diana.’
‘What?’ Diana felt her head throb. ‘Look, I don’t trust Bob. Not with all that money.’
‘You’re wrong about him. He might be a bit of a rough diamond but he’s a bloody good man and sharp as knife when it comes to money.’
‘Oh really?’ said Diana, raising her voice.
‘Yes, he’d be a damn sight better with the money than old Mr Anderson,’ shouted Arthur. ‘Remember, it’s not just your money,’ he went on, pointing at the sleeping baby. ‘It’s hers too.’
‘Do you think I don’t know that?’ Diana shouted back. ‘I’ve told you, I don’t trust Bob. And I don’t like him either. There’s something of the spiv about him.’
‘Don’t be such a snob, Diana.’
‘You of all people should know I’m no snob,’ she snapped back.
Silence crackled around them.
‘Look,’ said Arthur, ‘if you don’t call Bob, I will.’ And he threw his sandwich on the floor and walked off across the field.
Diana watched him go, her cheeks flushed and her eyes red.