Romantic Association - Loves Me, Loves Me Not

‘Listen, Jeannie,’ she said, ‘I couldn’t put Laura through all that again. I mean, she’d found a good man in Bill and to call the wedding off at that stage would have been too much for her.’

‘How can you say that?’ I shook with anger. ‘To find out that her fiancé, the man she loved, was still alive, how could that be too much to bear?’

‘Because by then she’d given her heart to Bill.’

‘Given her heart? Do you believe that?’

‘Why else would she marry him?’

There was nothing I could say. I could hardly tell her that some folk thought Laura was so determined to be married that almost anyone would do. I believed that Laura had been genuinely heartbroken and that Bill had been kind and understanding and that it had been entirely understandable for her to clutch at his support.

But as Thelma and I faced each other over the table I remembered what Raymond had said the night before. She didn’t wait very long to find out if I’d really kicked the bucket, did she?

I got up to go. Thelma hurried after me.

‘Jeannie, you’re not going to do anything, are you?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, you’re not going to write to Laura and tell her that Raymond has turned up, are you?’

‘No, I won’t write.’ She needn’t have worried. After one or two letters, Laura had stopped writing to me. I’d had enough pride not to pursue the matter.

‘Good girl.’

Thelma tried to embrace me but I pulled away and hurried out of the hotel and along the seafront to the cries of the gulls and the waves crashing on the shore.

I expected that Raymond would go home—wherever home was—but he didn’t.

‘What is there to go back for?’ he said. ‘My mother’s dead, I have no brothers or sisters, my father’s business was sold some time ago. There’s still some money owing to me and I’ll tell the solicitor to sell the house. But I’ll have to find a job.’

It was my lunch hour and we were sitting in Vicky’s Tea Rooms having poached eggs on toast.

‘Will you go back to acting?’

Raymond looked astonished. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Acting. I mean you were on the stage, weren’t you, and about to go into films?’

‘I was a photographer. I worked for my father’s small studio but when he died I became a sort of freelance. I wasn’t much good with the sort of posed family portraits my father did. I suppose I wanted more action.’

‘But we all believed that when the war began you had been on the point of becoming a film star.’

Raymond smiled. ‘Blame Laura. I was vexed when I discovered that’s what she was telling people but I didn’t want to embarrass her by putting things straight.’

‘But how could she have got that idea?’

‘I’d been commissioned by an agency to do some head and shoulder portraits of young hopefuls that were to be sent round the casting directors. The agent told me that I looked like film star material myself and offered to sign me up. So the story she put about wasn’t exactly a lie.’

‘Would you like to be a film star?’

‘I’d hate it. I’m much happier behind the camera.’

‘So what will you do?’

‘I might try my luck over there.’ He nodded towards the window.

I turned my head and saw he was looking at the local newspaper office.

I wished him luck and hurried back to work. Clouds were gathering and I could smell rain. But despite the dark clouds my spirits soared. I couldn’t understand why I was so happy until I realised that it was because Raymond, who could have gone anywhere he pleased, had decided to stay here.

My mother said Raymond could lodge with us until he was ‘on his feet’ and we all tried to get back to a normal existence. The first time Raymond came with me to the Roxy I could see that everyone felt awkward. But gradually the mood relaxed and we were treated as part of the crowd.

Raymond made a quick trip back to his old home in Elstree. He cleared the house and then handed the keys over to the solicitor. He didn’t bring much back; only his clothes, a couple of cameras and several boxfuls of photographs.

The local paper didn’t take him on straight away. They gave him some unpaid assignments as a trial. One or two of his photographs appeared in the paper, then he was told to try and write words to go with them. They called it ‘copy’.

Eventually they gave him the verdict. That evening after tea he was very quiet. It was my mother who was brave enough to ask him what had happened. Raymond looked grave.

‘Well, they said my photographs were all right.’

‘Only all right?’ Dad asked.

Raymond nodded, looking down at his plate so we couldn’t see his expression. Then he suddenly looked up and grinned. ‘But they said my writing was first class.’

We all looked at each other, completely baffled.

‘So?’ Mum said. ‘Are they giving you a job or not?’

‘They are, but not the job I applied for. They’ve offered me a job as a reporter. I start next week.’

Well, Mum got her bottle of sweet sherry from the sideboard and we all drank to his success. But the smiles faded when Raymond said that he wouldn’t be taking advantage of our kindness for much longer. He intended to find a flat. Mum told him there was no need for that and Dad said he was welcome to stay, but Raymond said that he might be working awkward hours and he didn’t want to inconvenience us. We could see that he’d made up his mind to go and I was completely unprepared for how desolate that made me feel.

I cleared the table and hurried into the kitchen. I was surprised when Raymond followed me and shut the door.

‘I don’t need your help,’ I said waspishly.

‘I haven’t come to help. Or, rather, I have, but there’s also something I want to say to you.’

‘What?’

Raymond laughed. ‘Jeannie, if only you could see yourself. Please don’t scowl like that. I’m nervous enough.’

‘Why should you be nervous?’

‘Because I have no idea what your answer will be when I ask you to marry me.’

I don’t know how long we stared at each other. Me with my eyes wide with shock and Raymond looking as nervous as he claimed he was. And then, without anything being said, we were in each other’s arms.

When my mother came into the kitchen to see what was keeping us, the dirty dishes were still in the sink. We moved apart, smiling foolishly, and all Mum said was, ‘About time. I couldn’t be more pleased, lad.’

Raymond was to wear one of his pre-war suits for the wedding. I was resigned to wearing my best skirt and jacket. It was a serviceable navy-blue serge, not exactly a bride’s first choice, but Pamela in the haberdashery department found a posy of silk anemones that had been behind the counter since before the war, enough to make a spray for my lapel and also to decorate my extremely unglamorous felt hat.

Then Dad came home with some parachute silk. It was perfectly legal. A pal had told him that they were selling it off at the air base and that, as it was coupon free, women were snapping it up to make underwear and curtains, as well as wedding gowns.

My mother and Pamela made my dress and when I tried it on for the final fitting the three of us cried.

‘You look beautiful, our Jeannie.’ My mother sounded surprised.

‘Of course she’s beautiful,’ Pamela said loyally. ‘That’s what being in love does!’

‘No, it’s more than that,’ Mum said. ‘She’s like the ugly duckling.’

‘Mum!’ I spluttered.

‘No, I mean it. You were just an ordinary lass and, of course, everyone compared you with Laura, but you’ve become a truly beautiful woman.’

So we all cried again and when Dad came home from The Fat Ox he shook his head, lit his pipe and retreated behind the evening paper.