He picked her up in his good arm and swung her round. His face was alight with excitement, he looked like the old Snip, the tough, self-reliant one.
‘We could stay here,’ he breathed, and until he said it, Nell had not realised how he dreaded the return to the real world, to a tiny room, a stultifying job, to all the miseries of uncertainty and self-doubt which had haunted him since he lost his arm. ‘We could stay here, live in this marvellous old place, and earn our living. Oh Nell, it’s a dream, we’ll wake up and find it won’t work!’
They returned to the lodge and put the idea to Hester
and Matthew. They agreed to say nothing, at first, about opening the place to the public, just suggesting that they might clean up a couple of rooms and live in them. Hester was doubtful but Matthew agreed at once.
‘Mr Geraint wouldn’t mind, he’d be real pleased,’ he said roundly, when Hester voiced her objections. ‘It makes sense, Hes, the whole country’s short of housin’, and here’s a great old mass of decent rooms a-goin’ beggin’. Better these youngsters do somethin’ with them than those squatters the papers talk about move in.’
Once Hester had been talked round, she was as enthusiastic as the others. She and Matthew were eager to help because it meant that the young people would not have to move away, and in the choosing of which four rooms to use Hester proved invaluable.
‘The study’s small enough to heat easily,’ she pointed out, when Nell asked why they could not use the white drawing-room. ‘You need half a tree to keep the drawing-room fire lit – I should know, I remember how I used to grumble that it needed making up every hour or so. No, you stick to the study, you can get some of the furniture out of the white drawing-room and use that, and shove the desk in the gap.’
‘Oh, all right,’ Nell agreed. ‘But why can’t we use the library instead of one of the bedrooms?’
‘If you have anyone to stay you’ll need a spare bedroom. And if, one day, you have a family you’ll need a second bedroom too,’ Hester said. ‘To tell the truth, I’m doubtful about the kitchen, it’s such a big room and, besides, Mrs Alice and the farmhands use it. But for the time being it’s the only room with cooking facilities and a proper deep sink, so it will have to do.’
Now, sitting in the private room at the inn and drinking the coffee which rounded off their wedding breakfast, Nell thought for the first time of what was to come: they would get up from the table and thank their hostess, make their
way back to the Ford. And then they would drive back to the castle and she and Snip would go into the small courtyard and across it into the kitchen. They would sit by the fire in their living-room, which had once been Mr Geraint’s study, and have a meal in the kitchen, a meal which Hester had prepared and cooked for them so that all they had to do was warm it through in the bake-oven. Then they would go up the long, curving staircase and into their bedroom. They would undress, wash, put on nightclothes, and climb into bed. Together.
A small shiver shook her. Snip was good to her, kind. He would never hurt or frighten her, but he would never thrill her either, never make her heart beat like a drum in her breast, never know just how to make her cling and shudder with the strength of her desire.
But that wasn’t real emotional love, Mrs Burroughes had said so. That was just romantic first love, the sort that didn’t last, the sort that faded away once it came face to face with real life.
Hester set her coffee cup on its saucer with a small clink. She caught Matthew’s eye and they both stood up. Snip followed suit, holding out his hand to help Nell to her feet. I do love him, in a way, Nell told herself as they left the inn and returned to the old car. I am really very fond of him, I like him better than almost anyone else. But oh, how I wish I were head over heels in love with his beauty, his power over me, his giddying sensuality. It would make what is to come a whole lot easier.
They lay, politely separated by at least a foot of mattress, in the big bed where, Nell supposed, Mr Geraint had once sported with his various women, possibly including her mother. They had eaten their supper without tasting it, carried water up to the dressing-room which was separated from their bedroom by a small connecting door, taken it in turns to wash.
Snip was in bed first and he was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling as Nell entered the room. She saw that the candle made weird shadows as she crossed the floor in her beautiful white lace nightgown and climbed into bed beside him.
The nightgown had been a wedding present. Nell felt very silly wearing such a valuable thing and fully intended to take it off as soon as she could, not realising that this same thought was in Snip’s head as he turned to watch her climb in beside him. The nightgown had been in the family, Matthew told them, for a very long while and was always given to the bride for her wedding night.
‘It looks new,’ Nell had exclaimed, and had seen the embarrassed grin exchanged by her husband and Matthew without understanding it at all. ‘I’ll give it back to you for the next bride, Dad. Did Mum wear it, incidentally?’
Matthew looked embarrassed. ‘No, she didn’t,’ he mumbled. ‘ ’Tweren’t here, then, ‘twas down in Sussex. Mr Geraint sent it up wi’ a note that we’d best have it now, since you were gettin’ wed … well, that’s what he said, anyroad.’
Then it must be true that Dan and I are both Mr Geraint’s kids, Nell thought dismally. Matthew couldn’t say so, of course, he had to pretend the nightgown was in his family, but that’s the truth of the matter. Dan hasn’t married, not yet, so I’m to have it.
The unwelcome thought hurt, but not much or for long. Her life was too full, too important, right now to waste time longing for what might have been.
‘Warm enough?’
Snip’s voice was husky, with a bit of a shake in it. Quickly, Nell turned in the bed and put both her arms round him, holding him close.
‘I am quite warm, actually … Snip, would you mind if I took this nightgown off? I’m afraid of spoiling it and it’s got to go back to Sussex for the next bride.’
Snip’s voice shook even more. ‘I – I was just goin’ to suggest it,’ he murmured. ‘Oh, Nell!’
‘I’ll put on my ordinary cotton one, then,’ Nell said, starting to sit up. Snip followed suit and blew the candle out as he leaned on his elbow. ‘Oh Snip, whatever did you do that for? I’ll never find my nightie in the dark, you fool!’
‘I know. Here, let me.’
An arm looped around her waist and lifted her, then slid the nightgown to waist-level. She was lowered back into a sitting position and the hand eased the nightgown further up.
‘Arms up, there we are.’
‘Oh!’ Nell said. ‘Oh, but … Snip, where are your pyjamas?’
She glanced at the black silhouette of him which was all she could dimly see through the darkness, and became aware that he was grinning, though she could not see his expression very well.
‘Never had none.’
‘Oh … well, what do you usually wear in bed?’
‘My skin.’
A tentative hand checked on the nearest bit of him, which happened to be his thigh. Her touch made him sigh and snatch his breath and his hand came out and smoothed its way around her waist. Nell’s own breathing began to speed up. She moved uneasily.
‘Umm, shall I just fetch my nightie? I can probably find it if I …’
‘No nightie. Has anyone ever told you, sweetheart, that your skin is like the finest silk?’
‘No, I don’t think so,’ Nell whispered. ‘Oh, Snip, don’t you think …’
The hand smoothed up her back to her neck, up into her hairline, the fingers pushing into the hair, cradling her head. Somehow, Nell found she was lying on her
back and that Snip was kissing her, leaning up on his elbow now and kissing her hard and excitingly, so that her arms wound around his neck quite of their own volition and her body, which had been astonished to find itself suddenly bare, began to sidle and purr against him like a cat against welcoming ankles.
He stopped kissing her for a moment and his lips moved warmly down across her neck, to chase wickedly across her body, rousing demons which Nell had never known she possessed. She groaned softly, then squeaked and grabbed at his head, seizing his ears, pulling him free of her.
‘No don’t, Snip, it isn’t … you shouldn’t …’
He raised his head. Her eyes were growing accustomed to the darkness and she saw for certain that he was smiling, though his breath was short and she sensed excitement and desire being curbed for her sake.
‘Why not, sweetheart? Don’t you like being kissed?’
‘No, I …’ Honesty reared a protesting head. ‘Well yes, I do like it, but it’s – well, it’s –’
‘It’s nice,’ Snip said. His hand reached out, gentling her, persuading her. ‘It gets better.’
He leaned forward. Delicately and gently, his mouth touched hers. He kissed her until her strangely permissive body was purring again, then his lips began their now-familiar journey.
‘Oh dear, Snip, I don’t think. …”
He lifted his mouth from her glowing flesh. ‘That’s it, sweetheart, you’ve got it,’ he said encouragingly. ‘You shouldn’t think, it’s the last thing you should be doing. Just let me show you what we do next.’
They had been waiting for hours just to see her, to catch a glimpse of a real fairytale Princess.
Mabs and Jenny were right in the front because they were determined to see her properly this time, not just
like on the newsreels, when you caught a glimpse and then the camera swung round to her parents, or to the little one – not that Margaret Rose was that little now, not at sixteen. Neither Mabs nor Jenny was old enough to have been in the forces, but the Princess had; she’d driven generals, ambulances, things ordinary girls did, but she was no ordinary girl and they wanted very badly to see her at last.
‘She’ll be Queen one day,’ Jenny’s Dad had remarked that morning, while he and Jenny gobbled toast and jam – no butter – and then rushed for the bus. ‘She’ll know more about ordinary people than most Queens do, I’ll say that for ‘er.’
Jenny had agreed and announced her intention of being right at the front. But now there was a commotion at the back and a voice could be heard, high and excited.
‘She’s arrived! I just seen ‘er, mekkin’ ‘er way down the print room!’
The news, hissed by Bet, one of the tea-ladies, reached Jenny’s ears and she nudged Mabs joyfully. ‘Did you ‘ear that? Won’t be long now!’
‘I should ‘ope it won’t be long now! I’m so excited! I just ‘ope I don’t pee on the floor … we’ve been stuck ‘ere a while already.’
‘Mabel Arkwright, you are a shocker! Ello, someone’s a-comin’.’
The double doors at the end of the long canteen were thrown back. All the tables and chairs had been removed the previous day and there was a roped-off walkway down the centre so that the Princess and her entourage could make their way through the room and out the other end, where the new wing of the factory was to be opened.
There was a buzz from the far end of the canteen and Jenny, straining sideways, saw them. A group of people, several of whom she recognised; managers, directors, their wives. And right in the middle, in a pale blue dress with
an off-the-face hat and a smile, was the star of the show, the main attraction: Princess Elizabeth Alexandra Mary, twenty years old. She was actually here, had begun to walk down the long room where the two girls stood, unbelievably excited by her presence in the same building as themselves.
The first thing that struck Jenny was that she was tiny, very much smaller than either Jenny or Mabs. I thought a Princess would be tall and slim and willowy, Jenny thought, with a small stab of disappointment. She’s small and quite slim, but rounded too …
She was very young. Jenny sensed that the Princess was, in some ways, much younger than she, though Jenny was not quite nineteen. She saw that the Princess had wonderful skin and her hair was dark, soft, thick; it shone when she moved as though it had been polished. But she doesn’t look – like I thought she would, Jenny told herself, irrationally disappointed. What had she expected? A crown? Something terribly glamorous? Then Princess Elizabeth smiled at something her companion was saying and Jenny recognised that this tiny, slender girl was a proper Princess, someone special, and she had been a fool not to realise it at first glance! She leaned over the rope, beaming as broadly as she knew how, cheering, clapping; Princess Elizabeth was someone special all right, but she was real too, that was what they forgot to tell you – a real person with a real smile and eyes which lit up when they met yours.
Beside her, Mabs was shouting, cheering. The Princess smiled straight at them both, friendship, understanding, all the things they had not even known they wanted to see in those dark blue eyes. Then she was moving on down the long room, half-hidden by the dignitaries who followed them.
Jenny turned to Mabs with a sigh. ‘Ain’t she perfect?’
Jenny said faintly. ‘Oh, I’m so glad I seen her. She’s perfect, that’s what she is.’
But Mabel was still shouting: ‘Liz … Lizzie!’ she bawled. ‘Where’s Philip, then? It’s your birthday, ain’t it, so you should be able to ‘ave a bit of a treat, Princess or no Princess. So why din’cher bring Philip?’
‘They were horrid, common girls to shout things like that at Lilibet,’ Margaret Rose said later that day, when her sister had gone to her room, leaving Margaret and Huntie to talk over what had happened. ‘How do they
know
about Philip, anyway? I mean I thought no one was supposed to know about Lilibet and him.’
‘I imagine the whole world knows,’ Huntie said ruefully, fishing a stocking out of her pile of darning and slipping her wooden mushroom into its heel. ‘Gracious, what a huge hole! I wonder if it’s worth darning? But then I’ll never get another pair, even when I save up the coupons, everything’s so scarce.’
‘How can the whole world know? Papa says there isn’t anything to know, that they’re just friends.
We
know differently, of course, but I don’t see how other people can be so sure.’
‘When Lilibet and Philip are together, dear, such happiness and affection radiates from them that it would be difficult not to guess their feelings. And though of course one relies on the discretion of one’s friends and servants, such discretion can, and does, falter if the reward is great enough. Even friends will speak to newspaper reporters, or to someone outside one’s own circle who has no scruples about passing such an interesting titbit on.’