7 November 1939
‘Come on, Lieutenant Epworth,’ said Diana, gesturing towards the door with her head. ‘If you don’t get me over the threshold soon, the war’ll be over and done with.’
‘Erm,’ said Arthur, balancing his new wife in his arms. ‘Slight problem there, I’m afraid. The keys are in my pocket. And I seem to have my hands pretty full at the moment.’
Diana laughed. ‘Let me help you,’ she said, pushing her hand into Arthur’s pocket. ‘Voila! Nos clés,’ she said, pulling out the keys and giving them a good jangle.
‘Oh, I love it when you speak French,’ said Arthur.
‘And I love it when you speak English,’ said Diana, swapping her expensive vowels for the blunt, flattened Yorkshire ones of her husband. ‘Now, allez, let’s get this door open.’ And she reached out with the key towards the door. Arthur bent his knees, lowering his precious cargo so that she could put the key into the lock. Diana snapped the key round to the right and the door swung open.
‘Here we go, then,’ shouted Arthur, holding Diana tightly. ‘One, two, three!’ and he strode over the threshold, hugging his wife close to him, his fingers pressing deep into the folds of her elegant tweed suit.
The wedding had been a quick one, in the registry office, with crowds of other couples waiting outside, like a market on market day. A mad, matrimonial rush caused by the war. Her father hadn’t come, of course. She’d done everything she could to get him there but he was implacably against the wedding. He’d tried to stop the relationship right from the start, invoking the spirit of Diana’s dead mother and, in the end, cutting her off from the estate. He bought them the farm, though, a small settlement he called it, something at least to confer some kind of respectability on his son-in-law.
‘It’s a little dark in here, isn’t it?’ said Arthur, looking around the room. He was sitting on a chair with Diana side-saddle on his lap, her arms draped over his shoulders. The chair was the only piece of furniture in the entire house. It looked very old and very rickety but neither of them cared. Today, now, together in their first home, even the rickety old chair was perfect.
‘Dark? Really? Do you think so?’ said Diana. ‘I think it’s snug. Cosy. I’ll be able to make it lovely, darling, don’t worry.’
Arthur smiled. Diana had wonderful taste. It was one of the many things he loved about her. She had an eye for things. A knack of making something look just right. It was the same with colours too, he thought, looking at what she was wearing. Taste. She understood it. It was another language she was fluent in, like French.
‘Look, that spot over there is just right for a range oven,’ said Diana, pointing to an alcove running along one wall. ‘And behind it, we’ll have some lovely wallpaper to brighten up the room. Something happy.’
‘Perfect,’ said Arthur. ‘I’ll leave it all to you.’
‘Yes, somehow I knew you were going to say that.’
‘Some of us’ll be busy fighting Hitler, you know.’
‘And some us will be busy doing everything else!’ replied Diana, kissing her new husband on the forehead.
‘Anyway,’ said Arthur. ‘I’ve got a bone to pick with you.’
‘Really?’ said Diana, curling the word around Arthur like a mink stole.
‘Yes, really. You’ve been here a whole twenty minutes with your wonderful new husband and you haven’t even offered to make him a cup of tea.’
‘Oh, I think you’ll find, Mr Epworth, that the lorries haven’t arrived yet with your sugar.’
She always teased him about the number of sugars he took in his tea. The first time he’d been to call on Diana, she, Arthur and her father had been in the sitting room making polite conversation when Mrs Henton, the housekeeper, came in and asked if they would like some tea. Tea was ordered and a few minutes later she returned carrying a tray with a teapot, some crockery, and assorted cakes. When Mrs Henton asked Arthur if he took sugar, he replied, ‘Seven, please.’ There was a moment’s awkward silence and then Diana looked up at her and said, ‘Mrs Henton, I think we may need a bigger sugar bowl.’ Arthur’s sugar intake had been a running joke ever since.
Diana pushed her hand through Arthur’s hair. ‘You know there’s nothing I’d love to do more than make you some tea,’ she said. ‘But we’re waiting for the removal men, remember? Until they come, we’re stuck I’m afraid. No tea. Only me.’ And she flicked his fringe and then wrapped her arms around him.
*
The front door fell victim to a burst of loud knocks.
‘They’re here!’ shouted Diana. ‘Come on,’ and she ran through into the hallway, Arthur in quick pursuit.
When Diana opened the door she was surprised to see that, rather than a flat-capped removal man waiting outside, there was a small, middle-aged lady in a rather smart maroon tweed suit.
‘Oh, hullo,’ said the lady. ‘I live over there.’ She pointed in the direction of the chocolate-box Georgian house next door. ‘I’m your neighbour, Rosamund Scott-Pym. How do you do?’
Diana took the lady’s hand and shook it heartily. ‘How do you do? I’m Diana Epworth and this is my husband, Arthur.’
‘It’s so good to have someone living in the farmhouse again,’ said Rosamund. ‘It must have been empty for well over a year now.’
‘Yes, it’s a bit of a wreck inside,’ said Diana, thinking of the empty rooms and bleak decor. ‘But it’s such a lovely spot. We both fell in love with the place straight away. I’d love to invite you in but I’m afraid we’re waiting for our removal men to arrive. We haven’t a thing!’
‘Oh no, I quite understand. I don’t want to bother you. I just wanted to say hullo and give you this.’ Rosamund held out a wicker basket full of little pots and bulging paper bags. ‘It’s just a few things to help you out in the first day or so. I know what it’s like moving in to a new home and now, what with the war, everything’s so much more difficult than before.’
‘Oh, that’s far too kind of you,’ said Diana. ‘Our things will be here soon. We couldn’t possibly.’
‘No, really. It’s nothing at all,’ said Rosamund. ‘Just a little something to welcome you to the village.’
‘Well, if you’re sure,’ said Diana. ‘It’s very kind of you, Mrs Scott-Pym. You must come round once we’re not quite so upside down.’
‘That would be lovely,’ said Rosamund. ‘And, please, do call me Rosamund.’
‘Thank you, Rosamund,’ said Diana. ‘And you must call me Diana.’
*
‘Do you know, I have a feeling we’re going to be very happy here,’ Diana said to Arthur as she watched her neighbour walk back down the drive. ‘I think it’s going to be home for a long time.’
‘I hope so, love,’ said Arthur, pulling Diana close.
Diana let herself fall into the familiar warmth of Arthur’s arms. ‘I want us to grow old here,’ she went on. ‘Have parties here, play tennis here, have our grandchildren here, just be very happy here, living out our dotage under the warm summer sun.’