Chapter 4: Gerry Wimsey falls in love

Letters, and fragments of letters and thoughts about letters

Dear Dot,

You might object to what I'm going to say, but read it anyway. I've been to some trouble on your behalf. I'm now in trouble as well. If you want to keep something secret, telling Peggy about it isn't the way. She's upset – can't say I blame her – and blew off steam to Nancy. Nancy has written to me. Galoot was about the kindest thing she called me. She does have a point though.

I've been making a few discreet enquires about Gerry Wimsey. At least, I thought they were discreet but, as the first comment was "Good grief, Walker, please don't tell me your sister's walking out with him." I don't think I was. That should tell you something anyway.

Don't get me wrong, as a pilot he's brilliant, never shows any hesitation in getting involved in a scrap, has excellent eyesight (it is important, believe me) and has plenty of kills to his credit. In short, Wimsey's a bit of a hero. I'm not saying anything again the chap as a pilot. If you were just seeing him occasionally, I might not feel bothered. I wasn't worried about him walking you to the station. He hasn't got a bad reputation in that way.

But if you're getting serious about him, that's another matter. (I don't think for a minute you'd mess Peggy about like that if you didn't feel seriously about him.) Thing is – he might not be so serious about you. I gather his tastes run to fast cars, fast girls (note the plural), cards, horses, night clubs that would make your hair curl…. You get the picture. I'd be nearly as upset to see you get hurt as I would if it were Titty. That's why I'm saying something now.

And honestly, Dot, you don't have to be flattered by the attention. You must realise that you're not bad looking. In fact I got a certain amount of stick from the other fellows about arriving at that dance with a very pretty girl and leaving with a much less pretty one. (She talked about her fiancé in the army all the way home after just happening not to mention him all evening. I'm not bothered.)

Anyway, I hope you're not mad at me for saying all this. I somehow don't think this is the only letter you'll get on the subject.

Roger

Dear Peggy,

Yes, I'd love to see you, of course and don't worry about the short notice. I've got an early shift that day, so I won't be home until two and we'll have a late lunch. If you want to arrive earlier Lillian will be in. We're both looking forward to seeing you and having a good catch up.

Much love,

Aunt Helen.

Sometimes, Nancy Walker really didn't like being able to see two sides to an argument. It was much simpler just to see one. Of course she was furious with Dot for hurting her sister's feelings. But Nancy also had to admit that if she had the chance to spend any time with John she would do just as Dot had done. She closed her eyes. She missed him so much. Most of the time, when she was busy, she could keep the feeling to a niggling ache somewhere in the back of her mind. Sometimes, when she had a moment to think, it swept over her in a cold wave.

She opened her eyes. If Dot felt for Gerry Wimsey even a tiny fraction of what Nancy felt for John, she might be heading for a great deal of misery. Nancy had met Lord and Lady Peter Wimsey when they had brought the Arbuthnots to Beckfoot. Her uncle had told Nancy a little about the family before they arrived. There was a Lady Mary, now married to some senior policeman. Nancy had somehow had the impression that her uncle had rather a soft spot for the Lady Mary. There was the Duke, about whom there was some sort of scandal. He had been accused of murder but had really been having an affair. The Duke had a Duchess who sounded repellently like the Great Aunt. They had one son, who was "a bit too wild". From most people that might mean nothing. Her uncle was himself a black sheep. What you would have to do to be "a bit too wild" in her uncle's opinion would have to be something extremely worrying. And Dot, prim, proper and conventional had learned a lot in the nine years in which Nancy had known her, but still had a worrying tendency to let anyone boss her about.

The best that seemed likely would be a heart-broken Dot when Flying Officer Wimsey moved on to someone else. She had seen two Wrens about POR forms in the last two months. One was a straightforward exploitation of paragraph 11. The girl had found life as a Wren harder and less exciting than she expected. They were better off without her. Nancy herself was not even convinced there would be a baby, although the girl had given all the right answers. The other girl – Nancy compressed her lips at the thought of the other girl. She had been obedient, eager to please, anxious to be liked and too timid to ask anyone's advice. In the end, Nancy had had to speak to her. She had tried to be as gentle as possible. The poor girl had genuinely believed the young man's promises.

Telling Dot off wasn't going to help, however hurt Peggy's feelings were. Nancy didn't feel she should put off writing to Dot either. She would do it before she wrote to John.

Fragment of a letter from Peggy to Nancy:

…. So I asked Jim if he knew anything about him. They must have been up at Oxford at the same time. Jim said that he didn't know him except to speak to slightly. This lad seems thoroughly unsuitable (I don't just mean it how the Great Aunt would mean it.) Drinking, fast cars, losing money on cards. There was a suspicion that he sometimes staked money he hadn't got. I expect there was more that Jim wouldn't like to tell me. I didn't mention Dot's name, of course, I just said a friend had been seeing him and I wondered what he was like…

Fragment of a letter from John to Nancy.

…..of course, darling, by the time you read this whatever happens will have happened. No, I didn't know Peggy was writing to Jim Brading. How long has that been going on for? Susan hasn't mentioned it. She presumably is the connection, because they haven't met apart from at our wedding.

I miss you terribly. I know I should be used to it by now, but it doesn't get any better with time ….

Dearest of Aunts, (and Uncle Peter, too, if he's about),

May I come for lunch (if I can scare up enough fuel for the bike) a week on Tuesday and bring the girl I'm going to marry with me? That is if she can get the time off – and if I can.

I'm not making the faux pas in introducing Dorothea to you rather than the mater first, because she hasn't actually said "yes" yet. I do feel I have more chance of her saying "yes" if she meets you first, rather than my disapproving mama. Not that she's got anything to disapprove of, but I imagine she will do so on general principles.

Actually, oh best of my aunts, you might possibly have met Dorothea before. She's a Shrewsbury College student – or rather old student since she graduated this summer. You gave them a lecture on writing novels or some such, didn't you? Her name is Dorothea Callum.

You'll say this after you meet her, but I'll say it now and save you trouble. Dorothea is much too good for me and deserves better. I'll just have to try to be good (or at least better).

With love to all,

Gerry

Harriet raised her eyebrows and handed the letter over to her husband.

"I do remember her. She had been writing historical adventure and historical romances. Lively stuff, well done. I put her in touch with a suitable publisher and she wrote a very nice letter of thanks. We met her again, at that wedding last summer, just before war was declared. She did one of the readings."

"Tall girl, blonde? Parents talked to Hope Bunter a great deal? Archaeologists?"

"That's her."

"If she's got any sense, Helen will fall on her knees and give thanks fasting." said Peter.

Harriet looked out of the window at their elder son playing on the lawn, a little further away from the dukedom than he had been only five minutes before.

"So should we." said Harriet firmly.