ON THE HOME FRONT TRILOGY BOOK 3

Ties That Bind

Chapter One

In the Blink of an Eye

London, August 1943

‘I’m sorry, darling, but would you repeat that?’

Fearing she had misheard amid the hum of conversation and the clinking of cutlery, Esme Trevannion held her breath. Then, for good measure, she crossed her fingers.

‘I said,’ Richard replied, his voice held low as he leant across the table towards her, ‘I’ve been to see the solicitor about buying the house in Teddington.’

So she hadn’t misheard at all: her husband really did mean for them to buy that lovely Edwardian villa, in that smart tree-lined avenue just a minute’s walk from the river.

‘Goodness, Richard, that’s wonderful! But why didn’t you tell me? This past week you’ve let me ramble on about how perfect I thought the place was, without giving any hint whatsoever that you shared my enthusiasm, and yet all the time you were planning to go and—’

‘Darling, please,’ Richard leant further across to urge. ‘No need to let the entire restaurant know our business.’

Flushing pink, Esme glanced to the adjacent tables. Had it not been for the Luftwaffe destroying every decent alternative within walking distance of Richard’s office, then The Walsingham Hotel, with its nineteen-twenties Palm Court Dining Room, wouldn’t even have made it onto her shortlist of venues for today’s luncheon – and with good reason. Not only were their fellow diners predominantly Whitehall types sporting permanent frowns and complexions that were grey with the pallor of war but, with its glass-domed ceiling now boarded over to protect against flying glass from air raids, the mood was even more funereal than her mother had warned her it would be. However, since there was, as the popular saying went, still a ruddy war on, the choice had come down to The Walsingham or nothing.

To be fair, Esme thought as she withdrew her attention from the grey mass of Whitehall officialdom, their meals had been surprisingly good. Despite being restricted to three courses from the regulation five shillings menu, the food had been tasty, the chinaware Staffordshire, and the crystal, Royal Brierley – no mean feat when almost every other establishment on this particular street now stood in ruins.

‘Sorry,’ she said, her voice lowered. ‘I’m just miffed that you chose not to tell me what you were up to.’

When Richard’s expression changed to a grin, she realised how rare it had become to see him looking anything other than serious. By nature a man who abhorred spontaneity, the prospect of leaving anything to chance brought him out in a cold sweat. He simply had to plan for all possible outcomes. It was, to her surprise, a trait she had grown to find reassuring: through the air raids and the bombings, the terror and the uncertainty, he’d remained solid, constant, unshakeable – her lighthouse in a storm. Which was why for him to have sprung news of this magnitude upon her was nothing short of astonishing.

‘To be truthful,’ he said, ‘I wasn’t sure I could pull it off. Knowing how you’d fallen in love with the place, I didn’t want to risk getting your hopes up before being absolutely certain I could actually buy it.’

Proof, if proof were needed, she thought, of how lucky she was to have married him. Not many men would show such consideration for a woman’s feelings.

‘Well, that’s very thoughtful of you—’

‘And then I thought, why not wait until today and tell you over lunch? Two celebrations for the price of one.’

Despite struggling to conceal her delight, Esme affected despair. ‘And there was I, thinking you’d forgotten all about it.’

‘Forgotten about turning thirty? Hardly.’

‘No, silly.’ Reaching between their empty glasses, she took hold of his hand. ‘Not your birthday, the house. When you made no further mention of it, I thought you’d gone off the idea. I assumed you thought it either too far from town or else beyond you financially – beyond the means of your grandfather’s trust.’

His grin softening to a smile, Richard squeezed her fingers. ‘I happen to think the asking price perfectly reasonable. And I’ve known for some time how Grandfather’s trust stands because I’ve had access to it since we got married.’

‘And you really don’t think Teddington is too far out? You’re sure it won’t make for an arduous commute every day? Only, you’ve always said that six stops on the tube and a short walk to the office is quite the luxury.’ What she didn’t want, was for the practicalities of moving so far from town to hit home later on and give him cause for second thoughts. If he changed his mind, her disappointment would be unbearable.

‘Actually,’ he said, his tone drawing her eyes to the sudden seriousness of his expression, ‘I’ve been thinking I might hold onto the flat – at least until after the war. With the hours I’m expected to put in at the moment, and the state of the trains, it could turn out to be a useful bolthole.’

‘And you can afford to do that?’ she asked. While the attraction of keeping somewhere close to Whitehall was obvious, running two homes – especially in wartime – did seem a touch profligate. Besides, if that was his intention, would there be enough money to pay for both Nanny White and a daily woman? She might have fallen in love with the Teddington house, but she didn’t fancy having to run it all on her own.

‘I won’t lie,’ Richard said. ‘From a financial standpoint it will be tight… it will certainly swallow up every penny from my promotion. But I’ve weighed it carefully and believe it would be worth the scrimping.’

Scrimping? There was a word she’d rather not hear! ‘Well, it’s your money.’

‘I prefer to think of it as our money.’

‘I know you do. And that’s incredibly generous of you,’ she said, her mind already on the matter of how to redecorate that lovely drawing room. With its high ceilings and easterly aspect, it cried out for something light and airy. Perhaps a pale lemon colour for the walls. Or even eau-de-nil. ‘But it’s not our money. Not really.’

‘Anyway,’ he said, and with which she noticed how tightly he was suddenly grasping her hand, ‘when we do eventually sell Anstruther, I was thinking it might not be a bad idea to set aside the proceeds for school fees…’

At the thought of their son, Esme’s free hand went to her locket – the one Richard had given her the day they’d brought their darling Kit home from the hospital. Just last week she’d put a new photograph in it – one she’d snapped in the park on his second birthday. Hard to grasp just how quickly he was growing up, harder still to believe that they should be sat there discussing schools.

‘That would make sense.’

‘After all, who knows how much that sort of thing will cost after the war.’

‘Mm.’ Richard was right; making provision for Kit’s school fees might seem dull now, but in a couple of years’ time, they would probably congratulate themselves for their foresight.

‘Especially since it won’t just be Kit to pay for.’

‘And especially if we want him to—’ Wait. What? Not just Kit? Reluctant to trust her ears a second time, she stared back at him. ‘Richard, are you saying—?’

‘That once we’re settled in the new house, we should have a second child?’

He’d changed his mind? He was no longer adamant they should wait for the end of the war?

‘Oh, darling, yes! That would be perfect! After all, we did say we wanted four… and I am twenty-eight.’

‘A stunning twenty-eight.’

‘Seriously, Richard…’ Good heavens. The day just kept getting better! ‘…you do mean it? About us having another child?’

‘I do. I know we said we’d wait… but I’ve come to find life in this perpetual state of postponement depressing. So, Hitler be damned! The time has come to get on with it.’

‘Well you’ll get no argument from me.’

With Kit having been born just nine months after their wedding, and with daily life in the aftermath of the Blitz still a struggle, they’d agreed not to even think about having a second: London was no place to be raising a family, they’d said. But, for all their subsequent happiness, just lately, she had begun to feel as though they were only half living, that, like everyone, everywhere, they were just going through the motions, their ambitions and their dreams on permanent hold. What she hadn’t realised was that Richard had been feeling the same way. For a man who didn’t like surprises, that was twice this afternoon he’d taken the wind out of her sails!

Feeling him release her hand, she looked up to see him steal a glance to his wristwatch.

‘Well, delightful though it is to be having lunch with my wife in the middle of the week—’

‘It’s not every day you turn thirty.’

‘—I’m afraid I really must be getting back to the office.’

‘And I suppose I should be getting back to Nanny White. You know what a stickler she is for punctuality.’

Moving to assist her to her feet, Richard smiled. ‘I’ll see you later then.’

‘Not too much later, I hope.’ Leaning across to kiss his cheek, she went on to whisper, ‘Only, apparently, we’ve another baby to make.’

His burst of laughter brought about the raising of eyebrows at the adjacent table. ‘Unfortunately,’ he whispered back, taking her arm and leading her smartly away, ‘the only chance I have of being home sensibly in the foreseeable future, is if you can somehow achieve what even our best brains have so far failed to… and bring about an end to this war.’

‘If I thought it would get you home at a decent hour,’ she said, the heels of her shoes clicking on the tiles as they crossed the hotel lobby, ‘I’d hotfoot it to Berlin this very second and put an end to Hitler myself.’

Still laughing when they emerged onto the street, Richard shielded his eyes against the late summer sunshine and scanned for a cab. ‘I half think you would, too.’

‘Only half?’ As she leant closer and lowered her voice, her lips took on a mischievous curl. ‘Then you clearly don’t appreciate quite how badly I want you home while I’m still awake tonight, Mr Trevannion.’

***

copyright Rosie Meddon 2022