The professor glanced over at Alice, clearing his throat. ‘Sam and I have had one or two words regarding the reception, Alice,’ he said, ‘and we were wondering if you would like us to arrange that part of things? I know one or two venues which might be suitable – and as you’re no longer living locally, it might be rather a burden for you to be thinking about that yourself.’
Alice nodded, relieved. ‘Oh yes…thank you, Professor,’ she said. ‘I would be so grateful if you’d make that decision for me.’ She looked away for a moment. Would there ever come a time when she didn’t call Sam’s father “Professor”? The name she and her mother had always used – as all the staff had. The name she was comfortable with. But once she was Sam’s wife, it would be different – wouldn’t it? What on earth should she call Edward then? She could never call him Papa, like she’d always addressed her father. There was only one man in her life who would ever be that. Alice took another sip from her glass. Every thought that crossed her mind seemed full of imponderables.
By now, as they all watched Edward begin to carve the ducklings, Rose said –
‘Have you given in your notice to the firm yet, Alice? From everything we’ve heard they’re going to miss you, aren’t they?’
Alice coloured up. She didn’t want to talk about that, because she would have to mention the fact that once she left, she’d be homeless…and she knew very well that she would be expected to come and live here, in Clifton, before the wedding. But Alice was determined she was not going to do that. This was still Sam’s home, not hers. Somehow or other, she would find something, somewhere to lay her head, until she was married.
‘No, I haven’t told my company yet,’ she said, glancing over at Rose. ‘There’s plenty of time. I shall certainly have to stay and help my replacement learn the ropes,’ she added, ‘so I expect to be in Dorchester for the foreseeable future.’
‘But I wonder where you will live once you’re married,’ Rose went on. ‘Do you expect to be in London next year, Sam?’
‘No idea,’ Sam replied, as if the question was unimportant. ‘But whereever I’m sent, I can assure you that I shall find a suitable home for my wife.’
‘Well, I wish you the best of luck with that,’ Margaret said. ‘The housing shortage is terrible since the war…there are squatters everywhere…homeless people taking over anything they can get their hands and feet on.’
Sam winked across at his sister. ‘Don’t worry about us, Margaret,’ he said. ‘Alice and I will not be squatting anywhere, I promise you that.’
Margaret was in a teasing mood. ‘Well, the very least you might have to do is to share with others, Sam… I mean…share accommodation. Take your turn in the bathroom, things like that.’ She looked up at the ceiling for more inspiration. Then – ‘Or why not apply for one of the pre-fabs everyone’s talking about? They’re really practical and cosy, so I’ve been told. Still – if “make do and mend” is one of the slogans, “shut up and share” should apply as well, shouldn’t it?’
‘And I think you should shut up, too, now, Margaret,’ Sam said easily, beginning to pass the plates of duckling along the table. ‘This is not a weekend for negative thoughts.’
‘Look, it’s almost two years since the war ended,’ Margaret went on, completely ignoring her brother’s remark, ‘and we’re still on rationing! And now, would you believe it, bread is now on coupons, as well! Bread! One of the few things that were never rationed during the war.’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘The fact is, the country’s broke, flat broke,’ she said, ‘and we might as well accept it.’
Changing the subject, David said, ‘So, Dad…what do you make of old Nye Bevan’s National Health Service? Do you think it’ll work?’
Edward didn’t look up from what he was doing. ‘We shall just have to see,’ he said. ‘One has to applaud the principle that there will be free treatment for all – rich or poor – at the point of need. Don’t you agree?’ He looked up briefly. ‘Of course there has always been a health service for those who couldn’t afford to pay, but they had to go and ask for it. And people are proud. Many refused to go with the begging bowl, and just suffered in silence, putting up with all their aches and pains.’ He finished carving and sat down, glancing along the table at his children. ‘I’m afraid the general feeling is that when this does all take place next year, the flood gates will open and the work load will significantly increase. Still,’ he shrugged, ‘I am not a politician. I am one of the foot soldiers, and I will go on as usual, doing what I know I do best. And I am still, apparently, allowed my private patients,’ he added.
As Alice watched Betty bustling in and out, bringing in the vegetable dishes, she half-stood to go and help her. She, and her mother had always helped out when necessary, and even tonight on this rather special family occasion, Alice felt guilty at just sitting here waiting to be served. But Sam touched her arm.
‘Don’t spoil it for her,’ he said quietly, nodding in Betty’s direction, ‘she’s in her element doing all this for us. She doesn’t get the chance so often these days.’ He paused, adding quietly, ‘And just look at my father… I can see he’s happy…really happy tonight. Happy we’re all here, happy that you’re here, Alice…his sense of loss is still acute…he finds it so hard to accept my mother’s absence…so hard to be here alone.’
With their meat served, everyone began to enjoy their meal. And although Edward and Sam had tried to persuade Betty to sit and eat hers with them as well – on this very special family occasion – she had refused, insisting there were still things to attend to in the kitchen, but that she would eat the dessert with them later. And, Alice thought, it must largely be only the professor who normally Betty had to cater for now, with perhaps an occasional guest that he might invite. Or maybe one or other of the twins might decide to come home for a good meal sometimes…all four of them had got their degrees at Bristol University so had been local then, but now David and John were in London studying to be lawyers, while Rose and Margaret seemed to be having a rather nice time doing nothing in particular as far as Alice could make out. Though both had, apparently, been earning some pocket money helping one of their university friends start a restaurant somewhere up north. When Alice learned of all this, she’d quietly marvelled at the difference in her lifestyle and theirs. It would have been unthinkable not to find a job and earn her own living. Not to be responsible for herself, not to pay her own way. But that had been, and always would be, the difference in her status and theirs. The difference between the rich and the poor. Even though the professor had worked tirelessly at the Infirmary for most of his life, he had come from a moneyed background, had had a privileged education. Now Sam was having the same experience – the only one to follow his father into the medical profession. The Carmichaels had never known poverty – which was why Helena had spent so much time with her charities for the under-privileged. Alice would never forget the generous food parcels, the treats and delicacies and comforts Helena often sent down to the Hotwells folk – especially at Christmas time. Hotwells was where Alice had lived with her parents before Alice and her mother had moved to live in Clifton. And after Ada’s sudden and unexpected death, Alice became nanny to the children when she’d been just fourteen years old. Ada, and Alice, had always been treated as members of the family, and had never stopped being grateful for it.
Much later, after the professor had gone to bed and David and John had taken their sisters out for a drink, Alice and Sam sat together on the sofa in the morning room. She had nestled into him, her head on his shoulder, and now she looked up and smiled dreamily.
‘D’you remember the last time – well I think it was the last time – that we sat here together like this?’ she said. ‘The day you proposed?’
Sam turned to kiss the top of her head. ‘Of course I remember.’
Alice stayed there looking up at him, admiring all over again the strong profile, the broad forehead, the thick, shining dark copper hair – somewhat tousled tonight, she observed, where he’d been running his hands through