Part 1 of 4
Camilla didn't want to meet her mother; especially not for afternoon tea at the Savoy. They would sit, politely drinking tea and eating cakes Camilla expecting to avoid delicate subjects as was her mother's usual want.
They had barely spoken since that miserable tea party where she had met Peter and Camilla had foolishly allowed her mother to frighten her into submission once more. Camilla would not have known what she would have done if he had not smiled and kissed her when she had turned up at the Police Station. She could not have borne the pain or embarassment if he had rejected her.
Part of her thought he might and frankly it would serve her right, but had she failed to take that leap she would have regretted it more. If they had not sat and talked for hours that evening in the darkest corner of the dining rooms that they could find, she would not have stayed put in Poplar. no matter how much she loved living at Nonnatus. Accidently (and metaphorically) bumping into him would be the wickedest prospect she could contemplate.
This new invitation for tea had come out of the blue; a note taken by Sister Bernadette left for her by the telephone. She had planned her afternoon off to perfection until that note appeared - finishing off that blouse that had been sitting half sewn for weeks and then the café on the Dock Road for tea with Peter before his shift started. How much she wished that she was sitting in the dank little café, with its smell of Stardrops and greasy chips, instead of the bright, glaring opulence of her current surroundings.
Their tea had been served with barely a word passing between them.
"So am I to take it that you remain involved?" her mother suddenly hissed under her breath.
"Pardon?" Camilla replied, genuinely surprised and unsure what her mother was driving at, about to put her cup to her lips.
"I said," she replied. "Are you still involved with that man?"
"If you mean Peter, then yes I am".
She was not for lying as it would only serve to make matters worse if their plans came to fruition. She saw her mother shake her head, seemingly still astounded at her youngest child's defiance.
"So I take it that you intend to continue with the charade even though you know full well how inappropriate he is?"
She wanted to scream at her that this lovely, kind, gallant man was not 'inappropriate' by anybody's standards. Instead, however she suppressed tears that were threatening to flow out of anger and frustration and, as she had done for most of her life, swallowed her words and her terrors and did not answer.
Her mother decided that she needed to be direct. "Do you plan to marry him?"
She wondered for a moment how her mother knew, but chose not to ask. She had been too wary to tell her; fearful of the response she would receive, even though she knew that day would have to dawn at some juncture.
"Yes, Mother. I do", she replied, even though she was sure that her voice was not that of a prospective new bride dashing to her mother, bursting with the news, mind whirling with plans of her future vows.
Her mother breathed pointedly in an effort to calm herself, fury raging its way around her veins again. How she had hoped that it would not be true.
The gossip she had heard whispered around her circle was right after all and it angered her.