His Diamond Bride (2 page)

‘Soon,' she promised.

They smiled at one another and the camera clicked. The picture appeared in the local paper the next day. Neither of them noticed it being taken.

At last it was all over. The guests departed, and Lilian accompanied her parents up to their room.

‘How is Pippa coping?' Dee wanted to know. ‘I worried about her this evening. A wedding anniversary. How that must have hurt her! If her wedding had gone ahead, it would have been her own first anniversary soon.'

‘I know, but you'd never guess it, she seems so bright,' Lilian sighed. ‘Oh, I could kill that man for what he did to her.'

Pippa's entry silenced the topic. Together, they helped the old people to bed, kissed them goodnight and retreated to the door.

‘You're not too tired after all the goings-on?' Pippa asked.

‘Tired?' Mark echoed. ‘We're only just starting. We're going to get revved up, then swing from the chandeliers and indulge in some mad lust. You youngsters! You don't know how to enjoy life. Ow! No need to beat me up.'

Dee, who'd delivered the lightest tap on his shoulder, chuckled. ‘Behave yourself!' she commanded.

‘You see how she treats me,' Mark sighed. ‘I expect you bully your menfolk too, and they wonder where you get it from. They should see what I put up with. Ow!'

As the two old people collapsed with laughter, Lilian drew her daughter away.

‘Let's leave them to it. Honestly, they're like a couple of kids.'

‘Perhaps that's their secret,' Pippa said.

‘Yes,' Lilian said thoughtfully. ‘They do seem to have a secret, don't they?'

They went downstairs to get on with the clearing up.

In the darkness, Mark and Dee listened to the fading footsteps.

‘We're very lucky,' she mused, ‘that our family takes such care of us.'

‘True, but I hope they don't come back,' he admitted. ‘Right now, I want to be alone with you. What are you giggling for?'

‘I was remembering the first time you ever said that to me. I was so thrilled. Suddenly every dream I'd ever had was coming true.'

‘But it wasn't, was it?' he reminded her. ‘I was a dreadful character in those days. I can't think what you saw in me.'

‘Well, if you don't know, I'm not going to tell you,' she teased. ‘We had our troubles, but we reached home in the end. That's all that matters.'

‘Yes, we reached home and shut the door against the world,' he mused. ‘And, ever since then, we've kept each other safe. Sixty years you've put up with me! I can't imagine how!'

‘Neither can I, so stop fishing for compliments. And, by the way, what game were you playing tonight?'

‘Game? I don't know what you mean.'

‘Don't play the innocent with me. All that talk about how you had to court me for years and work to impress me. You know that's not what happened.'

‘Yes, it is.'

‘It most certainly is not. Don't you remember—?'

He stopped her with a gentle finger over her mouth. ‘Hush! I remember what I remember, and you remember what you remember, and maybe it's not the same thing, but does that matter?'

‘No, I suppose not,' she said thoughtfully. ‘I dare say we'll never know now which of us has remembered it right.'

‘Both of us and neither of us,' he said.

She smiled. ‘You're very wise tonight.'

‘I'll swear that's the first time you've ever called me wise. Now, tell me, did you like your present?'

‘I loved it, but you shouldn't have splashed out on diamonds.'

‘
One
measly little diamond,' he corrected. ‘I was determined you were going to have that on our diamond anniversary.' Then his voice rose in horror. ‘
Good grief; I almost forgot!
Your other present.'

‘I've been wondering about that, ever since you told me this morning that the diamond was only the “official” present, and that you had something else for me that meant much more. You said you'd give it to me later, when the crowd had gone.'

‘I forgot until now,' he groaned.

‘Never mind, darling,' she said tenderly. ‘People of our age become forgetful.'

‘Our age?' he echoed, affronted. ‘Are you suggesting that I'm old?'

‘Of course not. You could be a hundred and you still wouldn't be old.'

‘Thank you, my dear.'

She couldn't resist adding cheekily, ‘But give me my present before you forget again.'

He gave her a look, then switched on the little light by the bed and fumbled in a drawer, producing a small object that he hid behind his back. ‘Close your eyes and hold out your hands,' he ordered.

Smiling, she did so, until she felt the soft touch of fur in her palm, and opened her eyes to find a small teddy bear. She gave an excited squeal and rubbed him against her cheek. ‘Now, that's a real present,' she said. ‘
Much
better than diamonds.'

There seemed little in the toy to explain her delight. Six inches tall, with beady eyes and nylon fur, he was like a
thousand other cheap trinkets, but Dee was overwhelmed with joy.

‘Do you remember the first one I gave you?' Mark asked fondly.

For answer, she reached under her pillow and produced another toy bear. Once, long ago, he might have been like the new one, but now all his fur had worn away, he was shabby and mended at the seams.

‘He's still here,' Dee said, holding him up. ‘I never let him get far away.'

‘You talk as though he was alive and trying to escape.'

‘He is alive, and he knows he can never escape me,' she said, looking at her husband with meaning. ‘That night you said you'd given him to me so that I didn't forget you. I loved you so much that nothing in the world could have made me forget you, but you didn't know that.'

‘I took too long to understand,' he agreed. ‘So many things I didn't see until it was nearly too late.'

‘But I always had my Mad Bruin,' she said, indicating the threadbare toy.

‘Mad Bruin,' he said, taking the bear from her and holding him up to consider him. ‘I remember when you called me that. You were so angry. You were an impressive woman when you got really mad. Still are.'

‘You scared me, doing something so stupid,' she recalled. ‘You were the real Mad Bruin. Mad as a hatter, always doing something no sensible man would have done.'

‘And we both got told off,' he remembered, addressing the toy.

She held both of the tiny bears together. ‘He'll enjoy having a companion. I'm glad you gave me this. It was a lovely thing to think of. I thought you'd forgotten all about Bruin.'

‘No, I didn't forget, but I noticed that you keep him hidden away.'

‘Nobody else would understand.'

‘Nobody but us,' he agreed.

She slipped both toys under her pillow. Mark turned out the lamp and they settled down together in the darkness. She felt his arms go around her, while her head found its natural place on his shoulder.

‘Bliss,' he mused. ‘This is what I've been waiting for all evening. Everyone is kind to us, but they don't understand. They just never know.'

‘No,' she murmured. ‘Only we know, but only we
need
to know.'

‘Goodnight, my darling.'

‘Goodnight.'

After a moment she heard the change in his breathing that meant he was asleep. But she wasn't ready to sleep. The evening had revived sixty years of memories and now they seemed to be there, dancing in the darkness.

The old man beside her disappeared, leaving only the dazzling young hero of long ago. How stunned she'd been by her first experience of love, blissful if he smiled at her, despairing because she knew he could never he hers.

Slowly she raised herself on one elbow to look down on him in gentle adoration. He awoke at once.

‘What is it?' he asked quickly. ‘Is something wrong?'

‘Nothing,' she reassured him, settling back into his arms. ‘Go to sleep.'

Content, he closed his eyes again. But she did not sleep. She lay looking into the distance, remembering

December 1938

‘A
NY
sign of them yet?' Helen Parsons' voice sang out from the kitchen.

Dee, her seventeen-year-old daughter, paused from studying a box of Christmas decorations and went to the window. The narrow London street outside seemed empty, but the darkness made it hard to see far so she slipped out of the front door and down the small garden to the gate.

‘Not a sign,' she said, returning to the house and hurriedly closing the door.

Her mother appeared, frowning. ‘Have you been out without a coat, in this weather?'

‘Just for a moment.'

‘You'll catch your death of cold. You're a nurse; you should have more sense.'

Dee chuckled good-humouredly. ‘It's a bit soon to call me a nurse. I've barely started my training.'

‘Don't tell your father that. He's dead proud of you. He tells everyone that his daughter became a nurse because she's the bright one of the family.'

The bright one, Dee thought wryly. Her older sister, Sylvia, was the beautiful one, and she was the bright one.

‘Now, don't start that again,' her mother said, reading her face without trouble.

‘It's just that sometimes I'd like to be gorgeous, like Sylvia,' Dee said wistfully.

‘Nonsense, you're pretty enough.' She bustled back to the kitchen, leaving Dee to gaze into the mirror.

She had pleasant, regular features under short brown hair, with dark brown expressive eyes. Pretty enough. That was about the best anyone could say and, if it hadn't been for Sylvia, Dee might have been content with it. But when she compared Sylvia's luscious features with her own, which were pleasant but not spectacular, she knew she could never be content.

Her figure was slender, almost too much so, which would have pleased many girls. But they didn't have the constant comparison with Sylvia's ripe curves. Dee didn't appreciate her own shape—with all the yearning of seventeen, she wanted Sylvia's.

She wanted to be beautiful, she wanted boyfriends trailing after her, and a throaty, seductive voice. Instead, she was ‘the bright one' and ‘pretty enough'. As though that was any comfort. Honestly! Older people just didn't understand.

‘I wonder what this one's like,' her mother said, returning with a duster that she put into Dee's hand.

No need to ask who ‘this one' was. Yet another of Sylvia's conquests. There were so many.

‘She'll get a bad name, having a new young man every week,' Helen observed.

‘But at least she's got some choice,' Dee observed wistfully. ‘Not like being stuck with Charlie Whatsit down the road, or the man who comes round with the pies every week.'

‘I don't want this family being talked about,' Helen said firmly. ‘It isn't nice. Anyway, what about all those doctors you meet at the hospital?'

‘They don't look at student nurses. We're the lowest of the low.'

‘The patients, then. You wait, you'll meet a millionaire. He'll take one look at you and fall madly in love.'

They laughed together and Dee said, ‘Mum, you've been reading those romantic novels again. That's just dreaming. Real life isn't like that—unless you're Sylvia, of course. I wish she'd hurry up and get here. I'm longing to see her latest.'

Sylvia worked in an elegant dress shop on the far side of London. As Christmas neared, business was booming and her hours were longer. Today she was arriving home late, along with her new young man.

Mark Sellon was a mechanic, newly out of work because his employer had lost all his money. Sylvia was bringing him home for Christmas in the hope that her father could offer him a job in the tiny garage he owned beside the house in Crimea Street. In that shabby corner of London, Joe Parsons counted as a prosperous man.

‘Of course, he might simply be a good mechanic, and she's bringing him for Dad's sake,' Dee mused.

‘Then why would she want us to invite him to stay the night? By the way, have you finished putting the spare bed into her room?'

‘Yes, but—'

‘You'll sleep there with Sylvia. And make sure you stay with her as much as possible. I don't want any hanky-panky in this house.'

‘You mean—?'

‘Yes, that's exactly what I mean, so you see that Sylvia behaves herself. Thank goodness I don't have to worry about you!'

Dee knew better than to answer this. To say that she yearned to be a ‘bad girl', in theory if not in practice, would bring motherly wrath down about her head and she had some urgent dusting to do.

In this she was helped by Billy, the family dog, an enormous mongrel who tackled everything with gusto. His contribution
to the cleaning was to follow Dee everywhere, pouncing on the dusters and shaking them.

‘Let go,' she told him, trying to sound stern and not succeeding. ‘Billy, I shall get cross with you.'

His glance said he'd heard that before and knew better than to believe it.

‘Stop it, you idiot!' she said through laughter, managing to rescue a duster. His response was to seize another and run off.

‘You haven't got time for play,' Helen said, appearing. ‘They'll be here soon.'

‘Yes, Mum.'

She applied herself to the work, finished it as soon as possible, then said, ‘I'm taking Billy for a walk. He needs exercise or he won't behave himself.'

‘All right, but don't be too long.'

She pulled on a thick coat and slipped out of the door, with Billy on a lead. It was a beautiful clear night, stars and moon shining down with a dazzling intensity that revealed her surroundings sharply.

‘Shame there's no snow,' she mused. ‘Never mind. Still, a little time before Christmas Day… All right Billy,
I'm coming.
'

Down the street he hauled her, across the road into another long street and down a narrow path that went along a string of back gardens. Voices greeted her as she went, for she had lived here all her life and knew the neighbours.

Now Billy was on his way back, taking her for a walk rather than the other way round. As they reached Crimea Street, she heard a sound in the distance, quickly growing louder and louder until it was deafening.

Then she saw a motorbike turning the corner, coming towards her, driven by someone in a helmet and goggles that obscured his head. In the sidecar was another person, also
mysterious until it raised an arm to wave at her and Dee realised that it was Sylvia.

So the driver must be her young man. Dee stared in wonder. She'd sometimes seen motorbikes being repaired in her father's garage, but she knew nobody who actually owned one.

The bike stopped and the driver got off to help Sylvia out, then remove her helmet. She clung to him, wide-eyed.

‘Oh, goodness!' she gasped. ‘That was—that was—'

‘Are you all right?' Dee asked.

Sylvia's response was to release her companion and throw her arms around Dee as if her legs were giving way beneath her, so that Dee had to support her.

She glanced at the young man. He was removing his goggles and the first part of him she saw was a smiling mouth—something she afterwards remembered all her life.

Then his whole face was revealed—handsome, lively, full of pleasure.

‘Sorry if I was a bit noisy,' he said ruefully. ‘When I'm going really fast the excitement tends to carry me away. I'm afraid I've offended your neighbours.'

The words sounded contrite but there was nothing contrite about him. He'd enjoyed himself to the full and was fizzing with delight. All around them curtains were being pulled back, shocked faces appearing at windows. He greeted them with a cheeky wave before turning back to Sylvia.

‘I'm sorry,' he repeated. ‘I didn't mean to scare you.'

‘I never dreamed you'd go so fast,' Sylvia gasped. ‘It was—oh, goodness!'

She took a deep breath and remembered her manners. ‘Mark, this is my sister, Dee. Dee, this is Mark.'

Now Dee could look at him properly and her head swam. He was too good-looking to be true. It didn't happen outside the cinema. She held out her hand and from a distance heard him saying that Sylvia had told him all about her.

‘Nothing bad, I hope,' she said mechanically and immedi
ately cursed herself for talking nonsense. But it was as much as she could do to talk at all.

A moment ago she'd been content with life trundling along in the same old way. Now it was as though a thunderbolt had struck her.

‘Let's get inside,' Sylvia said. ‘It's freezing out here.'

Joe and Helen had come to the door to see what all the commotion was about. The sight of Mark wheeling his motorbike brought Joe hurrying down the path of the tiny front garden.

‘That's yours?' he asked with a hint of awe.

‘Yes. Is there somewhere I can put it?'

‘In my garage next door. I'll show you the way.'

When the two men had vanished, Helen said, ‘Well! So that's him! Noisy young fellow, isn't he?'

‘He likes people to know he's there,' Sylvia said.

‘Hmm! Not the retiring type, obviously.'

‘Nobody could call Mark the retiring type,' Sylvia agreed, following her mother into the house.

In the better light Helen could see her daughter properly and was horrified.

‘What are you wearing?' she demanded. ‘What's that—thing in your hands?'

‘I wear it on my head, and these are goggles to protect my eyes.'

‘What do you want to go gadding around on that contraption, dressed like that for? To suit him?'

It was clear that Mark had got off on the wrong foot with Helen. With Joe, however, he had better luck. The motorbike had made an excellent impression and, as Dee watched them returning to the house, she could see that they were already in perfect accord.

‘So now your dad's found someone to talk nuts and bolts with, he's happy,' Helen observed. ‘I reckon that lad's got the job already.'

Then it happened. Mark threw back his head and roared with laughter, a rich, vibrant sound that streamed up to the heavens. It seemed to invade Dee through and through, filling her with helpless delight. All of life was in that sound; everything good and hopeful, all that was promising for the future. How could anything possibly go wrong with the world when a young man could laugh like that?

But then, mysteriously, she knew a flicker of alarm, as though a hidden danger was approaching her behind a smiling front. But it passed and she chided herself for being fanciful. Sylvia had found herself a pleasant young man. Surely all was well?

‘Are you two coming in for your tea?' Helen called, and the two men obediently returned to the house.

Some instinct seemed to warn Mark that he was doing badly with Helen. He behaved charmingly, thanking her for allowing him to stay for Christmas.

‘Any friend of Sylvia's is a friend of ours,' Helen said politely, and Dee might have imagined that she slightly emphasised ‘friend'. ‘Joe needs a good mechanic, so I hope things work out.'

‘He
is
a good mechanic, Mum,' Sylvia said eagerly. ‘The best.'

‘Well, we'll see. It's almost teatime and I expect you're starving, Mr Sellon.'

‘Please, call me Mark. And yes, I'm starving.'

‘Come upstairs and unpack first,' Sylvia suggested. ‘Where's he sleeping, Mum?'

‘In Dee's room,' Helen said. ‘She'll be in with you.'

‘I thought Dee was going to sleep on the sofa down here,' Sylvia protested. ‘That's what you said this morning.'

Helen dropped her voice to say, ‘I've changed my mind. Now, get going and tea will be ready in a few minutes.'

At that moment Joe Parsons signalled for Mark to join
him in the sitting room. Sylvia went too and, when they were safely out of earshot, Helen said, ‘If she thinks I'm letting her be alone in that room while he's here—well! That's all I can say.'

There was no need for her to say more. Her suspicions stood out brilliantly.

‘You think he'd—you know—?'

‘Not now, he won't,' Helen said with grim satisfaction.

‘He's very good-looking, isn't he?' Dee ventured.

‘Hmm. Handsome is as handsome does.'

‘
Mum!
It's not his fault he's handsome.'

‘Did I say it was? But they're the ones you have to watch, that's all. Now, go and lay the table.'

Over tea, Mark told them about himself. He was twenty-three and lived on the other side of London in a hostel for respectable young men. His father had died when he was six and he'd been reared by his mother alone.

‘She had no family, and my father's family had disapproved of their marriage, so I don't think they helped her much. She died a couple of years ago.'

‘So you've got nobody?' Helen asked with a touch of sympathy.

‘Not really. I trained as a mechanic because my father was one. Luckily, I took to it and now I'm only happy with a spanner in my hand. I had a good job in a garage. At least I thought it was a good job, but the owner lost all his money, the garage was sold to someone who brought his own workforce in, and I was fired.'

‘How did you get that motorbike?' Joe asked in a voice full of envy. ‘Don't they cost a fortune?'

‘Yes, they do,' Mark agreed, ‘so I had to use rather unusual methods. It belonged to the son of the man buying the garage. He wanted to sell it because he was getting a new one. I couldn't afford even the second-hand price, so I bet him he
couldn't beat me at cards.' The gleam in his eyes had a touch of charming wickedness. ‘And he couldn't.'

‘No,' Joe breathed in awe. ‘You're a bit of a devil, aren't you?'

‘I hope so,' Mark said, sounding comically shocked. ‘What's the point otherwise?'

‘Hmm!' Helen said disapprovingly.