‘Well at least she’s written to Jack and finished with him,’ Ellie sighed. She was in fact relieved that Bonny wouldn’t be around tonight. She had to break the news to Edward that there was nothing in the show in Oxford for him, and Bonny was spiteful enough to enjoy it. ‘Stan looks as if he deserves a bit of torture. From what I’ve heard about Jack, he doesn’t.’
As they walked home together in the snow, their companionable silence was another reminder to Ellie of how much she would miss Edward, for his self-reliance, dependability and good nature. There were never quiet moments like this with Bonny: she demanded attention constantly as she chattered and giggled. But for some time now Ellie had been aware of the growing animosity between her two friends, and she couldn’t stand being pulled two ways by them for much longer.
After the bitter cold outside, the kitchen seemed very warm. The fire was still alight, but they knew it was more than their lives were worth to add more coal to it. This room was very austere, but at least clean. Mrs Arkwright had laid out four mugs on the table, each with a spoon of cocoa and a splash of milk. Four small rock buns sat on a plate, burned on the top and barely edible. The fourth cake and cup were for Albert Coombes, but mostly he got drunk after the evening’s performance and didn’t come home until the early hours.
‘I’ll put the kettle on.’ Edward hung his coat over a chair, whispering because Mrs Arkwright was in bed in the front room. ‘I’m glad Bonny’s gone off and Albert’s out drinking. I wanted to ask you if you’d like to come home to my grandmother’s when the panto finishes, until we find another job?’
Ellie had to tell him about Oxford, then and there, without building up gradually to it.
He was standing by the table, one moment a wide grin on his face, the next his whole face seeming to sag.
‘I’m sorry, Edward,’ she said bleakly. ‘But I need it, especially as it’s so close to Marleen. Maybe you could get a job in Oxford too, playing the piano in a hotel.’
The kettle boiled. He fetched it and poured the hot water into their two mugs, but he didn’t say a word. Ellie could see a nerve twitching in his cheek and she was frightened by his silence.
‘Speak Edward,’ she said, as he stirred the cocoa. ‘I know it must seem I’m running out on you. But we always knew we’d get split up some time.’
‘I’m not upset about that,’ he said at length, slumping down into a chair and putting his head in his hands. ‘Though I wish we’d worked on another comic act we could do together. But this will mean you’re stuck with Bonny for good. She’ll pull you down and destroy you.’
‘That’s silly.’ Ellie put one hand out and touched his shoulder. ‘How can she destroy me? Please don’t be jealous.’
‘I’m not jealous.’ He lowered his hands and caught hold of hers, his blue eyes intense and deeply penetrating. ‘I would be cheering if you got a good job on your own. But while I’m around Bonny doesn’t try to drag you into things with her. The moment I’m off the scene, she will.’
‘That’s a bit insulting,’ Ellie said stiffly. ‘Do you really think I’ve so little character I can’t stand up to her?’
‘You don’t understand, do you?’ Edward shook his head. ‘She’s slow poison, Ellie. She drips it in without you knowing and it makes you think you need her.’
‘Rubbish,’ Ellie snapped. ‘I care about her, I like doing an act with her. But I’m not dependent on her.’
‘Then why didn’t you stay in Manchester and be the fairy godmother?’ he asked. ‘I wanted you to, it was a good part. It was Bonny who influenced you against it. She didn’t care about you, only herself, and what thanks did you get for it? A month in this hellhole while she screws every man in town.’
‘Don’t say such things, Edward!’
‘It’s all true! Take notice, for God’s sake, Ellie, before it’s too late,’ he pleaded. ‘You’re only using half your potential doing an act with her. You’re a brilliant comic actress, you’ve also got a wonderful voice. But no one sees that when you’re on stage with her, they watch her feet and body, Ellie, and your talent is diluted.’
Ellie stood up. ‘We can’t talk any more tonight,’ she said, putting one hand on his cheek in an attempt to say she understood what he meant. ‘We’ll disturb Mrs Arkwright. Go to bed, Edward. We’ll go somewhere tomorrow and talk some more, when we’ve both had time to calm down.’
Ellie lay awake, staring at the ceiling. She’d heard Albert come in minutes after Edward got into bed, waking Mrs Arkwright when he banged the door. He stumbled as he came up the stairs and she guessed he was drunk. Now he was snoring as he always did and she wished Edward would thump him and make him stop.
Some of what Edward said made sense. She was in danger of losing her identity as an actress while dancing with Bonny, and maybe she should talk to Archie about it. But Edward was wrong to think she was being manipulated by Bonny; that much was pure jealousy.
The sound of a creaking door made her sit up. There was a gas light outside the window and the curtains were so thin the room was bathed in soft yellow light. To her astonishment her door was opening and Edward was coming in.
‘What is it, Edward?’ she whispered. ‘Mrs Arkwright will fry you for breakfast if she hears you.’
He crept silently across the floor. He was wearing striped pyjamas with a sweater over them. ‘Let me get in with you?’ he whispered. ‘Please!’
Ellie moved over and pulled back the covers. Edward got in and wriggled down beside her.
‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered. ‘I couldn’t sleep. I was too worried.’
‘I told you we’d talk in the morning. I’m not angry with you or anything. I’m not sure you should be doing this.’
She couldn’t really imagine Edward making a pass at her, not after all this time. And he was too much of a gentleman just to barge his way into her bed with that on his mind. But Bonny’s words a week ago about him being obsessed with her popped back into her head and made her uneasy.
‘I’ll go back in a minute,’ Edward said. ‘And I’ve only got in here because it’s cold, in case you think anything else. I just wanted to tell you how I feel about you. By tomorrow I won’t be able to find the words.’
Ellie waited. She could almost hear his mind ticking over for the right word to start.
‘I love you,’ he whispered. ‘I don’t mean in a romantic way exactly. But it’s more than just being a friend. I suppose I am jealous of Bonny, because she’ll be with you and I won’t.’
‘We can still be friends,’ Ellie said. ‘We can write to each other, spend a holiday together. Just because I’ll be working away from you doesn’t mean it ends here.’
For a moment he was silent. ‘I meant every word I said about Bonny,’ he said softly. ‘I can’t take that back, because it’s all true. Just promise me you won’t allow her to hold you back from achieving your ambitions?’
‘I promise,’ Ellie said soothingly. ‘Just don’t ask me to stop caring about her.’
‘Can I cuddle you?’ he said. ‘Just for a minute.’
He slid his arm round her and drew her head on to his shoulder. She could feel his lips on her forehead and she sensed there was something more he wanted to say.
‘Tell me?’ she said. ‘There’s something more, isn’t there?’
‘Mm,’ he murmured. ‘I’ve wanted to tell you hundreds of times.’
‘Well, now’s your chance.’ Ellie wriggled closer. The heat of his body felt good and it was making her sleepy.
‘I’ve found out I can make love to women,’ he said against her forehead. ‘I’m not queer.’
‘What a time to tell me, now you’re in bed with me,’ she said in mock alarm, lifting her head just enough to see his face. She had grown so used to it she rarely considered how handsome he was. The dim light from the gas lamp in the street showed up his fine cheekbones and straight nose, and the blond hair falling over his forehead gave him a vulnerable look he rarely had by day.
‘I don
’t think I’ll ever make a great stud.’ He gave a soft little laugh. ‘I still don’t understand quite why most men think about it all day. Or why I let Ambrose do that to me. But I’m normal, Ellie. I do like women.’
‘I’m glad,’ she murmured, snuggling down again. ‘I’d have liked you just the same, even if you found it was men you liked. But you being happy and comfortable with yourself is what really counts.’
As Edward watched Ellie drifting off to sleep he considered how odd it was that he’d been aroused by three different women with whom he had nothing in common, and yet that now the woman he adored was lying in his arms, he felt nothing but a sense of belonging.
‘Jack! How nice,’ Lydia said as she opened the door. ‘But Bonny isn’t here. Did you expect her to be?’
But even as she spoke she saw there was something very wrong with Jack. His eyes didn’t meet hers, his shoulders were stooped, he was wringing his cap in both hands – even his hair looked less fiery.
‘No, I didn’t expect her to be here,’ he replied in a growl. ‘I had a letter from her today.’
‘Come in, Jack.’ She opened the door wider and stepped back. Instinct told her what the letter from Bonny contained.
Jack stood awkwardly at the door of the sitting-room. He knew Lydia had increased her dancing classes and piano lessons since the war ended. He thought he might have interrupted one.
‘Come on in and sit down.’ Lydia gently nudged him through the door. ‘I’m all alone.’
Jack sat down in an armchair, looking at the sofa. It brought back memories of the first time he made love to Bonny and a wave of pure agony welled up again.
‘Now, Jack, a drink?’ Lydia said. ‘You look like you could use one.’
She didn’t wait for his reply, just poured a large brandy and handed it to him, then pulled up a pouffe in front of him and sat down.
‘It’s over,’ Jack said, his face contorting as he struggled to control himself. ‘She said I’d just become a habit she couldn’t break, that we had nothing in common and she’d make my life a misery.’
‘Poor Jack.’ Lydia reached out and took his big rough hand, squeezing it between her two slender white ones. ‘I am so very sorry. I didn’t know she was going to do this. Did you think I might?’
‘No.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘I don’t even know why I’ve come here, except you’re the only person that loves her as much as me.’
Lydia’s heart contracted painfully. She knew exactly what he had left unsaid. Everyone else would say ‘Good riddance’, ‘She wasn’t for you Jack’; a grieving man didn’t want to hear that. And Jack was a man, a man with a big heart, strong and dependable.
‘Did they give you leave?’ she asked.
He shook his head. ‘No, I just did a bunk. I couldn’t face the lads.’
‘I’ll telephone your commanding officer and explain,’ she said quickly. ‘You don’t want to be put on a charge.’
‘I couldn’t care less if they locked me in irons and flogged me,’ he said wearily, wiping his uniform sleeve across his eyes. ‘I can’t live without her, Miss Wynter.’
Lydia made him drink the brandy. He winced as he gulped it down and tears sprang to his eyes.
‘You can live without her, Jack,’ Lydia said gently. ‘Maybe today it seems that way, but it will get easier.’
‘It won’t,’ he said stubbornly, raising pain-filled eyes to her. ‘She’s like the sun in my life, take that away and I’ve got nothing.’
Lydia plied him with more brandy. She called his commanding officer and explained why he’d gone absent without leave, promising she personally would drive him back to camp tomorrow morning. Then she sat down and listened to Jack.
He spilled out so much, so many things she didn’t want to hear. Jack’s pain became hers, and Lydia wept for the child she loved and yet knew she’d lost too, for Bonny wouldn’t come back here again now, not unless she was in trouble. As Jack got drunk he spoke of Ellie having the abortion and Lydia guessed the truth of that story too. But between lies and deceits, childhood friendship and adult passion, one single bright thread stood out.
‘You say she influenced you to want more than you were dished out with, Jack,’ Lydia reminded him. ‘Don’t give up on that now because she doesn’t want you. Fight, Jack. Get that garage, build it up and make something for yourself. A great many people admire you around here. You are someone for them to look up to. Remember the little lad with holes in his shoes and torn trousers who insisted he wouldn’t be parted from his brothers? None of us could forget him! You deserve success and by golly I’m going to see you get it, Jack, if I have to come down to that garage and change tyres with you.’
‘But it won’t make Bonny love me,’ he said bleakly.
‘No, but it will make you love yourself, Jack, and there’s other girls out there who will give you a great deal more lasting happiness than Bonny ever could.’
‘Why couldn’t she love me, like I love her?’ he said just before passing out on her chair.
Lydia looked down at Jack and sobbed. She knew Mrs Phillips must ask herself that same question. Lydia had even asked it herself too. The truthful answer was that Bonny had been brought up seeing love as chains. She was greedy for freedom, like a bright, beautiful butterfly, only stopping fleetingly to sip on the nectar of love, afraid of being captured and kept in a jar.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Oxford, April 1946
Magnus Osbourne stopped under the shop awning, took off his trilby hat and shook it. It was pouring and he could feel dampness penetrating his raincoat, right through to his suit. It was more than just an April shower; the rain looked set in for the day.
‘I should’ve arranged to meet Basil at my hotel,’ he murmured to himself.
All his twenty-year-old student memories of Oxford were bathed in perpetual sunshine. In his mind’s eye he saw sunbeams slanting through the leaded panes of his study. Punting down the river wearing a panama hat, shirt-sleeves rolled up, with a couple of giggling girls reclining on cushions. Driving his Alvis with the hood down, playing tennis and rowing on warm evenings. Magnus knew it must have rained on countless occasions, yet he couldn’t recall one day in three undergraduate years when Oxford hadn’t looked golden.
It wasn’t golden today. The university halls were every bit as imposing as he remembered, but a dingy film tinged the yellow stone. The shops were pinched by post-war austerity, badly needing a fresh coat of paint, and the people’s faces seemed as grey as the sky. The only cyclists passing were in oilcloth coats, no black, gowns fluttering behind them as he remembered.
Turning towards the window of the bookshop he was sheltering beside, he saw himself reflected clearly, and it wasn’t altogether pleasing to observe how clearly the lean youth who’d once bought books in this very same shop was moving into middle age.
Taking off his hat for a moment, he stared at himself. He was forty-one. Ruth claimed he was handsome now, but when they married back in 1929 he had been merely ‘interestingly angular’. His hair was still as thick and fair, although a recent severe cut prevented it from having the ‘haystack’ appearance she so often laughed about. His features were all prominent: a broad nose and forehead, a wide mouth with fleshy lips and a strong chin. His eyes had lost their youthful brilliance; once a bright speed well blue, they had faded and speckled like a wren’s egg. But Magnus had never been concerned with his appearance, and his interest in it now wasn’t mere vanity, merely a slight anxiety as to whether, at forty-one, he was still physically strong enough to embark on what promised to be a strenuous, new way of life. ‘Of course you are.’ He grinned at his reflection. At twenty-one he’d been a six-foot weed weighing less than ten stone. He was close on thirteen stone now and it was all muscle and sinew, not an ounce of fat.
‘Magnus old chap! How the dickens are you?’
Magnus turned at the booming greeting and grinned at his old chum, putting one big hand on the man’s shoulder and squeezing it
affectionately. ‘All the better for seeing you again.’
Magnus and Basil Lanagan had first met as ‘freshers’ here in Oxford. Both keen sportsmen, they had rowed and played tennis and cricket together and their friendship had endured, despite only seeing each other every two or three years.
They had both been in the RAF during the war, albeit different squadrons; Basil based in Suffolk, part of a ground crew, Magnus in Kent in reconnaissance. But now Basil was back teaching English and geography in a boys boarding-school close by, and Oxford had been an ideal choice for a long overdue reunion.
‘The rain’s a damned nuisance,’ Basil said, sweeping a hand over his wet hair. ‘I thought we’d be tramping around our old haunts.’
Basil hadn’t changed much since his student days: a tall, well-built fellow, with glossy black hair, smooth olive skin and flashing white teeth. His six years in the RAF had produced a rather splendid moustache. It suited him, Ambrose thought, and gave him a rather dashing image.
‘We could go back to my hotel,’ Ambrose suggested without much enthusiasm. ‘Though I doubt we’ll be able to get anything more than tea.’
Basil looked up at the sky reflectively. ‘Tea’s better than a soaking!’ he replied.
As they made their way back in the direction of the Royal Oxford Hotel, they made small talk about their respective families, aware that the gap of almost three years since they’d last met up left a great deal of trivial catching up to do before they could lapse back into the more comfortable manner of long-term friends.
They might have walked right past the Arcadia Theatre, but for a large board outside, almost blocking the pavement, proclaiming, ‘TODAY’S MATINÉE TICKETS HALFPRICE’.
‘How about that?’ Basil said with laughter in his voice. He wasn’t entirely serious, but they both had fond memories of taking part in a student revue at this same theatre. ‘Fancy seeing the Great Gonzalis or Ruby Rivers the Northern Songbird?’
Magnus studied the garish posters with some amusement. He knew exactly what this variety show would be like: heavy-footed dancing girls, a thumping piano, ageing comedians and magicians. But the sign declaring that this was the show’s sixth week had to be in its favour, and it was one way to while away a couple of hours out of the rain.