“I do not approve of dictators in any form,” replied Eric, “Yes, Spain has come a long way thanks to Franco, I admit, but at what a cost in bloodshed.”

  “Without him there would have been even more bloodshed,” pursued Philippa, “the Spanish could not get their act together without a strong man. Just like the French needed Napoleon after the revolution.”

  “Oh, let’s drop this harping on the subject. I’ll go and do some reading.”

  It was early August. When Eric got home from work one Friday, Philippa said to him,

  “Darling, we need to celebrate.”

  “Sweetheart, I celebrate every day because I’m married to you. But what is this in particular?”

  “We are expecting.”

  Eric clapped his hands in flamenco rhythm, shouting, “Ole, Ole,” and then lifted them up to be the bull’s horns while with one foot he dug in furiously.

  “I’m the great Toro of Toros. A father. Or shall I say the Boar of Boars since you once likened me to a pig. Our clan is enlarging. Hip, hip, hooray!”

  He made a few snorting sounds like a boar. Then he laughed and patted Philippa’s stomach gently.

  “Philippa. How wonderful. You are a treasure. When is our baby due?”

  “In February next year, between the 17th and the 20th, says the gynaecologist. I am two and a half months pregnant.”

  “I shall pour myself a good cognac in view of the celebration. You can have no alcohol. I’ll pour you an orange juice. Put on a slow waltz, I want to twirl with the mother of my child.”

  She did as he requested and then the two were engrossed in their dance.

  “Father will burst with pride,” said Philippa.

  “I bet. I can really see your father in the role of a grandpa. He will launch himself into it with gusto. I fear that he will be far worse than any children.”

  “I don’t want to dampen our celebration, but I must ask. What will you do about your parents?”

  “Tell them nothing. As any children grow up, they shall be told that my parents are dead. As you know, I go nevertheless twice a year to see them. They are under the impression that I still work for the estate agents. As far as they are concerned, you are barren. It is remarkable how little interested in my life they are. That hurts me to this day and it will always do so.”

  “You are right, Eric. We won’t talk about this subject again.”

  “Indeed, my love. Now let me put on a real crooner and we can sway to the dulcet tones. I shall leave you to tell your parents about our news.”

  When Sir Philip and Lady Saunders learned that Philippa was pregnant, there was no end to their jubilation. Sir Philip was over the moon for his daughter. He blessed his son-in-law. That man had truly made his daughter happy. And now the family was enlarging. Sir Philip felt that he was born into the role of a grandfather, he looked forward to crawling on the floor, playing in the mud, building sand-castles on the beaches and tucking messily into ice-creams. Bliss awaited him. Eric’s predictions came true, in the future photo-albums it could be seen that Sir Philip was the messiest and most crumpled-up “child” of the gatherings!

  The future grandparents went immediately on a visit to Paris. This time they could still stay with Philippa and Eric in their guest-room. During the following visits they would be staying in a near-by hotel because the guest-room would become the nursery and the other spare bedroom would be for the nanny.

  One afternoon, mother and daughter had gone shopping, leaving Eric and Sir Philip at home. The two were sipping a light white wine.

  “My boy, I thank you for the happiness you are giving Philippa.”

  “No need for thanks, we are very happy together. Ours is a love that is slowly growing. I am waiting so eagerly for our child. I love the idea of being a real family man.”

  “There will be real competition as to who will be allowed to push that pram. I volunteer as number one,” laughed Sir Philip, “However, there will be sacrifices to be made.”

  “I can’t think of anything.”

  Eric was flummoxed.

  “It’s the car, my boy, the car. The orange MG two-seater is not designed to carry children. You’ll have to get a family car.”

  “By Jove. What a thought. We shall have to become worthy. There will be a number of my colleagues who will quietly cackle when they see me in a… a...”

  “Austin Maxi,” laughed Sir Philip.

  “Yes, in an Austin Maxi. The orange MG has got the odd jealous glance. We’ll have no problem getting rid of it. There will be a queue of potential purchasers.”

  “By the way, have you thought about where the birth will take place?”

  “Yes, indeed. Philippa will come to stay with yourselves two months before. For the just in case. When anything begins, phone me, and I will be on the next plane to London. Door to door should take no more than six hours. I am told that a first labour usually lasts well over twelve hours, so I’ll be in time to pace the corridors with you.”

  Chapter 19

  After the family Christmas in London, Eric had returned on his own to Paris. It felt a bit strange without Philippa, he had got used to her. At least he had been able to celebrate New Year 1973 with the family. They had a good marriage. They tended to enthuse about similar things like world happenings, new books, new plays, and so on.

  At the Embassy, the dreaded Councillor was leaving in May. Whatever the next one would be like, he could not be worse, so life was looking up for many in the Embassy. Eric’s policy of being especially deferential had paid dividends. He himself had not had any unpleasant encounters with the man.

  One Saturday evening in late January, Eric had been reading and listening to some pop-songs on the radio. He became aware that they were playing “Pretty Woman” by Roy Orbison. An acute pain hit him. That was Katie’s and his song. He switched the radio off like a scalded cat. It was too late, his mood had changed. His feet carried him to the drinks cabinet.

  “Oh Katie. If only you were here. You are so much part of me. I don’t want to forget, but I don’t want to remember. How can I solve this?” murmured Eric to himself as he slowly got himself drunk. The last time he had had that insurmountable urge to drink had been a week before the wedding. He was beginning to see that he would always have those bouts from time to time. For with the thought of Katie came the thought of Southall. The two were intertwined and inseparable.

  On the morning of the 18th of February, there was a phone call at 5am. Eric knew instantly what it was about. Philippa was in labour. Eric left a message with the night porter at the Embassy. Everybody had been alerted to the fact that the baby was due sometime between the 17th and the 20th. Eric had been given two weeks’ leave from whatever date the birth happened.

  He got on the 7.40 flight to London and by eleven he was at the hospital. Philippa was overjoyed. Sir Philip was already a bundle of nerves. His wife tried to calm him down but without much success.

  “Philip. Calm down. Women have been giving birth since time immemorial.”

  “I am aware of that interesting fact, Steffi. But this is our Philippa. I remember as if it was only yesterday when she was born. I was a nervous wreck.”

  “That was evident to the whole hospital. You got intermittent hiccups. It was dreadful. Don’t get them now. You are supposed to prop Eric up. I see that he is the type to be quiet when nervous.”

  When at eight o’clock in the evening Philippa was wheeled into the inner sanctum to give birth, Eric could not sit still. He paced the corridors together with Sir Philip. Lady Saunders sat reading a book.

  Just before nine they were called in. Philippa looked neat. She had on a fresh nightie and her hair had been combed. The baby was in swaddling clothes in her arms.

  “May I congratulate you on a fine baby boy,” said the obstetrician.

  When Eric saw his little son, the iceberg in his heart melted. A new feeling filled him, a feeling of a strong protective love which gave him a happiness he had never expected to have.

  “Philippa, my treasure, I can’t thank you enough. Our baby boy is wonderful,” said Eric and took his son into his arms.

  Philippa saw in the eyes of her husband an entirely new expression, one of deep, deep sentiment. For Eric, the baby was the first thing he had ever loved with purity and selflessness. Everything that he had ever lacked, he would give to his son. He would be called Lucius, that he decided at once. The little one would have all the chances like the other Lucius about whom he had listened all those years ago. Dear Philippa, she had given him the most precious thing on earth.

  Sir Philip had gone to kiss Philippa, but now he turned to Eric.

  “Please, let me hold him now for a while.”

  “Yes, surely.”

  “Have you thought of a name yet?”

  “Daddy, we haven’t. I would like Eric to name our son. Darling, what shall it be? Have you anything in mind?”

  “He shall be called Lucius, Lucius Philip,” pronounced the proud father very firmly, “and now it is time for the grandmother to get him.”

  The doctor approached them.

  “I am very glad to see such a happy family reunion, but now it is time for the new mother to have some rest. You will see them again tomorrow.”

  Chapter 20

  It was through Nandita’s friendship with the Brockley-Doones that Katie learned about Eric. It was March and she had gone to see Nandita. Hardly had she arrived when she asked,

  “Nandita. Any news about Eric?”

  “Yes, and big news at that. He has got a son who was born in February. He is said to be over the moon.”

  Katie’s face clouded over. Her loved one now had a son, he was a family man. He would be over the moon. Katie instinctively knew that the child would mean the world to him. Whatever he felt about Philippa was no longer of importance, it was the child who mattered. For Katie it was an irreparable loss.

  “Katie, for heaven’s sake, don’t take it so. It is not the end of the wold for you. You are only twenty-six. You’ve got your future before you.”

  “I know. I should have. But I can’t ger over Eric. He really was the love of my life. And I fear it will stay that way. Since we broke up, I have not gone out with any men. I have no incentive.”

  “This is beginning to sound like an obsession. Do at least accept some invitations and go out. At least have a look at what is available. You don’t have to start any relationships unless you want to.”

  “My dearest friend, you are so wise, as you know, I took up your suggestion about joining a choir. That has turned out well. There is a good crowd. We are twenty-eight in all, twelve men and sixteen women.”

  “What about the twelve men?”

  “There are four in their thirties, three in their forties and the remainder are fifty plus. Three bachelors, who I suspect are the other way inclined and the rest are all married.”

  “Well, there are always friends of friends. See how you get along.”

  “Will do. Will at least try.”

  As for her job, she was still in a typing pool of a big concern. There were two junior managers and another two in middle-management who were all keen on her. At least they were all single men. But they were nothing like the sainted Eric. What Nandita had said made sense, so she decided to accept some invitations and see what might ensue.

  She still lived in shared digs with two other girls. She got on well with them. They had realised that Katie was no threat at all to them as regards their men. One of the girls was twenty-nine and the other was thirty-three. The latter had got somewhat desperate during the last two years. She saw her chances dwindling seriously year by year. She was always in a relationship but none had lasted even a year. They knew that Katie had had a relationship but that it had ended a few years ago, but they did not know with whom. They had noticed that Katie had become a bit reclusive and they had suggested she take up a new hobby in order to meet people. They had suggested pottery.

  Pottery, indeed, thought Katie. She felt no inclination towards it. However, why not, she thought in the end and enrolled herself on a course. It was a revelation to her that she actually enjoyed mucking around with the clay and that she turned out to have a real talent in it. It was a serious course where the different techniques of making clay were gone into and what different shapes could be created by the use of different clays. Ancient history of the use of clay was gone into, that of the Egyptians, the Greeks and the Chinese. Katie lapped it up. She loved especially ancient Egyptian art. The course was one of the best things she had ever done in her life. And most wonderfully, doing pottery fulfilled her inner longings.

  As she sat there playing with the clay, her thoughts, as always were upon Eric, and lo and behold, her inner feelings came out in the clay. Most beautiful and intricate shapes somehow created themselves. It was love in the form of clay. Her teacher was most encouraging; not often had he come across such a talent. Katie took her time in learning the techniques and finesses of the art. It was to become a life-long joy to her.

  Chapter 21

  Philippa came back to Paris with baby Lucius after Easter 1973, together with the nanny. The nanny was really an au-pair girl as Philippa had no wish for a real nanny to take over her child. They basically needed a baby-sitter for when they were going out. Also, they wanted to go on short holidays without having to drag a baby with them.

  They liked two to three night tours to different areas of France, so as to get to know the country really well. It was usually over a Saturday, Sunday and Monday which meant that Eric only needed to take one day off.

  By November, Philippa was pregnant again. The baby was expected sometime between the 22nd and 26th July, 1974. Eric’s chest swelled up in pride. Sir Philip enthused endlessly.

  There was so much romance in the air. At the end of November, back home, Princess Anne had married Captain Mark Phillips in Westminster Abbey. Both Eric and Philippa loved watching the ceremony on the television.

  “Princess Anne is wonderful,” said Philippa, “but I wonder whether that marriage will be easy?”

  “I don’t think such a union can be easy,” replied Eric, “he is in the military, his career, for the moment, but he will find it impossible to continue. Being married to the Queen’s daughter puts him on a different pedestal from the rest. Should he need to leave his chosen way of life, what would he do? Would that make him happy or would it bring frustration? Most likely the latter.”

  “I feel the same. If a man can’t have his career, then it does not augur well. For the moment, though, everything is like in a fairy tale. By the way, my parents would like to come for a week’s visit. They wonder when it would suit us.”

  “Anytime, my darling. When they come, the nanny can have time off. Your father won’t want to go anywhere without the little one.”

  It was then decided that the parents come for two weeks for Christmas.

  Sir Philip was sitting cosseting Lucius. He was tireless.

  “You’ve been in Paris for just over two years now,” he said, “how much longer do you think your posting will last?”

  “Not much more than the summer, I’d think. I expect to hear about it soon in the New Year.”

  “How do you feel about that, Eric?” asked Lady Saunders.

  “It has been a wonderful first posting in which to cut my teeth, however, neither of us is making the mistake of thinking that we belong here in any way. Home is London and home is best. I don’t know whether the next posting will be at home or abroad.”

  “Which would you prefer?” asked Sir Philip.

  “No real preference, but perhaps a home posting at this stage would be good. We shall see.”

  As Eric had foreseen, at the end of January he was informed that from May onwards he would be joining the Western European Department at home.

  In Paris, the fancy receptions again buzzed like champagne bubbles. There had been the opening of the new Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris on the 8th March. The pride of the Parisians knew no bounds. At the dinners and lunches it provided an interminable subject of conversation till suddenly the topic changed to that of the death of the President, Georges Pompidou. That had been sudden and unexpected. Now the bets had got to between Francois Mitterand and Valery Giscard d’Estaing.

  “Who do you think will win, Eric?” asked Philippa.

  “There is no way of knowing these things. It will be very close, I’d say. My bet would be on Giscard d’Estaing.”

  As it turned out, Eric would have won his bet.

  To return to the UK, Eric and Philippa had again chosen to travel by train. It was easy to settle back into their house, all it needed was to remove the dust covers. They had arranged for their second child to be born in the same hospital as Lucius and for Philippa to be under the care of the same obstetrician. The labour started in the early hours of the 24thof July and by three o’clock in the afternoon the child was born. It was a girl.

  “Emma Erica, welcome to the world,” said the proud father who was brimming over at having a daughter.

  “Philippa, you are the perfect wife. First a boy and then a girl.”

  “I know. It was just as you ordered, master,” smiled Philippa, “look, there’s Daddy clamouring to hold the newborn.”

  Eric passed the baby over to Sir Philip.

  “Wow. You are going to be a beauty,” crooned Sir Philip, “you’ve got your father’s eyes and colouring and Steffi’s mouth and chin. Lucius has Steffi’s dark eyes and hair but the rest of him is Eric.”

  “That is all very interesting,” said Lady Saunders, “when they are newborn, one can pick out the bone structure which later you can’t because of the puppy fat.”

  “Daddy, don’t you think that Eric has again chosen lovely names. Lucius and Emma, that sounds so good,” mused Philippa.

  When Eric heard her say that, he felt a little lump in his throat. The café from years ago came up into his mind’s eyes.

 

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