Guarded Passions (8 page)

Her elation was immediately dampened at the thought of the shock it would be to them both.

‘We'll just tell them we want to get married, not … not about the baby.'

Tenderly he tilted her face so that she was forced to look at him. ‘If that's how you want it,' he promised, ‘but I think they'll wonder why we're in such a hurry and I think we owe them the truth.'

‘Later, perhaps,' she whispered as they clung to each other, ‘not right away, Adam …'

‘Is that it?' Dr Price's grey eyebrows shot up in surprise as the Registrar carefully blotted their signatures and shook hands with Adam and Helen.

‘Yes. I'm now Mrs Woodley,' Helen breathed blissfully, linking her arm through Adam's and smiling up into his face. Proudly she held out her left hand, displaying its shining gold band for her father's inspection.

‘It's the starkest wedding ceremony I've ever attended,' Dr Price said. He cast a disparaging glance around the sparsely furnished office, with its threadbare red carpet, a vase of wilted roses on the desk the only form of decoration.

‘Well, never mind dear. It all went very smoothly,' Mrs Price said placatingly. She stroked the backs of her white gloves, and then nervously moved her handbag onto her other arm.

‘But it doesn't feel like a family wedding,' Dr Price muttered gloomily as he held open the door for them to leave. ‘We're twenty miles from home; we know no one – we might have been negotiating a bank loan for all the atmosphere there is.'

‘No fuss, no dressing up, no speeches, no waste of time … I would have thought you would have approved,' Aunt Julia said tartly.

‘I'm so glad you're pleased with the way we've done things, Aunt Julia,' Helen said quickly. ‘And you do look very smart in your uniform,' she added warmly.

‘Certainly better than seeing you dressed up in one of your exotic outfits and peculiar hats, I suppose,' Dr Price muttered drily. ‘Although that might have made the occasion seem more real. At least we'd be able to look through the wedding album and have a good laugh. As it is, there isn't even a photographer here.'

‘I've brought my camera though,' Aunt Julia retorted, ‘so we can take our own.'

‘You'd better let me take them,' Dr Price said, holding out his hand for the camera. ‘Your snaps are usually pretty disastrous.'

‘Rubbish! You can take some in a minute, but there must be at least one family group with you on it,' she insisted.

‘Well, get on with it then,' Dr Price snapped, as he stood with the rest of the group.

‘I really don't understand why you are being so disagreeable,' Mrs Price said sharply, frowning at her husband. ‘There's no call to be so disparaging. Normally you abhor big weddings and having to dress up in top hat and tails.'

‘Other people's perhaps, but when it's your only daughter …'

‘For heavens sake!' Aunt Julia exclaimed. ‘There's a war on!'

‘Helen could still have been married in the village church instead of this hole-and-corner affair. Our friends and neighbours could all have been there to see her, even if we couldn't muster up enough rations to wine and dine them afterwards.'

‘And I could have borrowed a white wedding-dress from the WVS I suppose,' Helen said scornfully. ‘No thanks! I'd sooner wear my own clothes, even if it has to be an ordinary dress.'

‘Ordinary is a most apt description,' her father said cuttingly. ‘Why didn't you at least buy something new …'

‘Clothes are rationed – or had you forgotten?' Aunt Julia cut in triumphantly. ‘Anyway, what's wrong with what she's wearing? I can see the paragraph now in the local paper. “The bride wore a full-skirted cream dress, with a hand-embroidered fitted bodice trimmed with cream lace.”'

‘There's a whole book of coupons lying on top of the Bureau that Donald Brady left for Helen …' Dr Price went on, ignoring the interruption from his sister-in-law.

‘Helen will need those to buy everyday things, like a new coat for the winter,' Mrs Price said quietly. ‘Under the circumstances I think she's been very sensible having a quiet wedding and not wasting precious coupons on a dress she'd only be able to wear once. Anyway,' she added brightly, ‘it's not over yet. Now the legal bit's been dealt with, let's all relax and enjoy ourselves. I'm told that they still do a first-class lunch at The Crown, so now's our chance to find out.'

The Crown was one of the oldest hotels in Salchester. A three-storeyed grey-stone building facing onto the square, its imposing façade gave it an air of subdued luxury as well as solid respectability.

It was like entering another world as they walked through the heavy, carved-oak doors. Their feet sank into the deep-pile red Wilton that stretched down the wide, endless corridors, and the general air of opulence made rationing and shortages seem like a grey dream. It was like stepping back a decade, to the days when war had been far from people's minds and the hotel had been the meeting-place for wealthy landowners and their wives, in town for market day or the races. It was where affluent tourists visiting the famous cathedral stayed.

The moment they entered the Crown Hotel, Adam felt out of place. Everywhere he turned there were majors, captains, colonels, as well as a general or two, intermingled with high ranking Naval and Air Force officers. Even some of the women present were in uniform, with pips or crowns on their shoulders and gold braid indicating their rank.

As they were being shown to their table, heads turned in surprise at the sight of an ordinary soldier sitting down to eat in the same dining-room as themselves. Adam's khaki battledress, even though it bore the shoulder-badges of a Guards regiment, stood out in marked contrast to the well-tailored officers' uniforms. And, although he had ignored regulations and worn his own black shoes instead of the clumping boots which were standard issue, he still felt clumsy and ill-at-ease.

Dr Price was not in the least perturbed by the raised eyebrows. Adam's embarrassment heightened when he saw the speculative gleam in his father-in-law's eyes as he looked around the room. He knew how sharp and censorious Dr Price could be when he chose. He had experienced a sample of his scathing tongue when he and Helen had told him they wanted to be married.

‘Married! At your age,' he had rasped. ‘Utter nonsense. I suppose you both think you're in love? Let me inform you it's nothing of the sort. Put it down to animal magnetism, chemical attraction, immaturity, childish infatuation, or whatever you wish to call it.'

Stubbornly, Helen had stuck to her guns, although she had been trembling with fury at her father's derisory remarks.

Listening to the two of them, Adam had been filled with rage that there was so little he could say or do. He knew instinctively that Helen was handling the whole thing badly. Quiet reasoning, he was sure, would be much more effective with Dr Price than obstinate defiance.

Helen had won the day, and forced her father into giving his permission, but Adam was sure he still bore a grudge and it made him nervous and cautious in Dr Price's company.

He relaxed slightly when Dr Price turned to his sister-in-law and remarked, ‘You must feel quite at home, Julia, with all these uniforms around. Probably half of the people here can't even recognise what yours is and are wondering what strange regiment you belong to. Good job we have Adam in a truly British uniform or we might find ourselves being mistaken for enemy spies!'

For Helen's sake, Adam tried to enjoy himself, but he felt nervous and on edge. Aunt Julia was doing her best to keep the party lively, but the note of discord raised by Dr Price in the Registrar's office still hung in the air, a spectre at the feast.

The meal was superb, with luxury foods which, though unrationed, were generally unobtainable. Canteloupe melon, filled with rum, was followed by grilled river trout. For the main course there was venison, and, for dessert, strawberries topped with fresh cream.

As they sipped vintage champagne between courses, the atmosphere became more relaxed, but Adam still felt an outsider and wished Gary had been there to support him.

As soon as the wedding date had been fixed, he'd written to Gary, inviting him to the wedding, only to get a letter the next morning which read: ‘Just spent 48 hours embarkation leave in London. See you when I get back.' Now it might be months, or even years, before Gary and Helen would meet.

As the meal finally came to an end, he hoped Dr Price wouldn't make a speech. All he wanted was for the three of them to disappear so that he could spend every second that remained of his leave alone with Helen. The longer he was in Dr Price's company the more he sensed that he not only didn't approve of Helen getting married so young, but he didn't endorse her choice of husband either.

‘I'm not at all the sort of son-in-law your father would have wished to have,' he murmured to Helen later that evening when they were finally alone in the huge bedroom, with its massive four-poster and dark, walnut furniture.

‘Rubbish. Anyway, he'll soon get used to you. How could anyone help but love you,' she teased, running her fingers through his thick hair and drawing his head closer so that she could feast her mouth on his.

‘That's not the point,' he told her, pulling back and walking across to the window. He drew aside the thickly lined curtains and stared out across the blacked-out city to where the cathedral spire pointed a sharp, admonishing finger skywards.

‘I think he is disappointed. I have no career prospects, you know. I am sure he would have been a lot happier if you'd married someone from your own social stratum …'

‘Social stratum … what's that? We live in a democracy; you are fighting for your country; we are all fighting for survival. Without people like you there would be no future for my father or any of his wealthy friends and patients,' she declared indignantly.

‘That may be …'

‘Adam!' The sharpness of her tone made him wince. ‘What are we doing arguing about such matters on our wedding night!'

‘You're right!' He whisked shut the heavy curtains, quickly checking to see there were no gaps that would allow any light to escape before switching on the bedside lights and holding out his hands to Helen.

‘Come on, Mrs Woodley,' he invited, ‘we've less than forty-eight hours to get to know each other.'

From that moment their honeymoon was idyllic, though the few precious hours seemed to pass in a flash.

They made love, they dreamed and planned the future they would have together when the war was finally over. And, on the last morning they talked about the baby Helen was expecting.

‘Do you want a boy or girl?' she asked.

‘Well …' he considered the question carefully, ‘… a girl if she's going to look like you, with thick brown hair and dove-grey eyes.'

‘And if it's a boy then he must look like you, with brilliantly blue eyes and an unruly mop of dark hair, and when he grows up he'll have a firm jawline, just like this one,' she told him as her fingers moved caressingly over his chin.

‘No.' He captured her hand, imprisoning it in his own. ‘If it's a boy, I'd want him to look like my brother Gary.'

‘Well, you said he had blue eyes.'

‘So he has, but his hair isn't like mine. It's a rich, coppery colour, just like our mother's was. I wish he'd been able to come to our wedding. You'd like him. He's great fun …'

‘Quite your favourite person …'

‘Next to you!'

‘Perhaps the baby won't be like any of us. Look how different Mum and Aunt Julia are – and they're sisters. There's only three years age difference, yet Mum seems years and years older than Aunt Julia. I think it might have something to do with their build. Aunt Julia's so slim and trim that she makes Mum look quite matronly.'

‘They're alike in other ways; both efficient organisers.'

‘True. Mum seems completely different when she's at Bulpitts. I've never seen her so brisk and bustling. I actually think she enjoys working there. Dad doesn't approve, of course. He'd sooner have her at home, running around after him. He hates having to dispense his own medicines. It's a wonder he doesn't give his patients a prescription and tell them they'll have to go to the chemists in Winton and have it made up there.'

‘Now that you're going to be at home, perhaps you could act as his dispenser. Easier work than you're doing at Bulpitts.'

Helen shook her head emphatically. ‘If I was that close to him all day, he'd guess about the baby in no time.'

‘When are you going to tell your parents?' Adam asked.

They were still in bed, replete from a gourmet breakfast which had been served in their room.

‘Not until I have to,' Helen told him, as she replaced her empty cup on the tray. ‘Wasn't that absolutely delicious?' she said with a satisfied sigh. ‘I'm sure we've just eaten a week's ration of bacon each. I wonder how they do it?'

‘Black market, probably.'

‘Mmm. You could be right,' she murmured, popping the final piece of hot buttered toast into her mouth and wiping her fingers on a serviette. ‘If you've got money you seem to be able to buy most of life's luxuries, even in wartime.'

‘That's another reason why you must tell your parents as soon as you get home.'

She looked at him, bewildered. ‘Are we still on the same wavelength? I'm talking about how people manage to get extra rations.'

‘So was I. As soon as a doctor officially pronounces you pregnant, you'll be entitled to extra rations, won't you?'

‘I can't tell anyone yet!' She giggled. ‘No one would believe me. How could I possibly know so soon!'

‘There are tests, surely?'

‘You think I should go straight home from my honeymoon and announce that I'm pregnant!'