Page 75 of The Secrets of Dragonfly Lodge
‘With Helen?’ Her mother sighed. ‘She’s talking a lot of nonsense.’
‘What kind of nonsense?’
‘Oh, about Bobby.’ Mrs Foster flattened the ball of pastry on the board and reached for the rolling pin. ‘That he’s not interested in her any more. I’m sure if she made a bit of effort, kept the house better and did her hair nicely… But she bites my head off if I say anything.’
‘Poor old Helen,’ Nancy said softly.
‘I’m thinking you should talk to her when they come on Christmas Day.’
‘Me? What do I know about marriage and babies?’
‘It was just a thought,’ her mother sighed and began to roll the pastry. ‘You’re more her age. She might listen to you.’
As it turned out, Christmas Day at the Fosters offered little opportunity for private conversation. As well as Bobby, Helen and their infants, Roger came, proudly bringing his fiancée, Sally, a shy girl who came out of herself as the day went on, helping little Andrew build brick castles and playing charades with little skill but much bubbly laughter. Aunt Rhoda didn’t stay long after lunch, but showered the family with lavish and beautifully wrapped presents. Nancy’s was a soft grey-blue angora scarf that went with her eyes.
James telephoned after lunch to wish Nancy a happy Christmas. ‘Deathly,’ he said when she asked him how the day was going. ‘Great-Aunt Fanny’s snoring on the sofa and Mother is making me play cribbage.’
‘Poor you,’ Nancy laughed. ‘It’s not much more exciting here.’
Helen, Nancy thought, looked dull and miserable. She’d lost all the weight she’d put on during her pregnancy and more – her clothes hung off her. Baby Terence cried every time he was laid down, so she and Bobby had passed him between them and taken turns to eat.
The sisters found themselves alone together briefly during tea when Nancy was fetching cake from the kitchen. Helen wandered in with an empty teapot, put the kettle on and slumped down at the table, waiting for it to boil.
‘Here.’ Nancy placed a slice of cake in front of her.
Helen picked at the icing, then pushed the plate away.
‘Aren’t you supposed to eat properly when you’re feeding?’
‘Honestly, Nancy, I couldn’t. The pills make me feel sick all the time.’
‘Pills?’
‘For my nerves. Listen, I know Mother’s been telling you things.’
‘Not about pills. Is there anything I can do to help?’
Helen smiled sadly, but shook her head. ‘No, I’ve just got to get through it, I suppose.’
If that was what having children did to you, Nancy decided she would put it off as long as possible. Forever, perhaps. She wondered if James wanted children. They’d never talked about it, but then they hadn’t talked much about the future. She was beginning to half-wish they would. Many of her friends were getting married now, not just Anne and Peggy but girls from school. What would it be like, being married to James? There’d never be a dull moment, that much was certain, but could she depend on him in the way you were supposed to? She didn’t know. Helen had to depend on Bobby for everything, for he held the purse strings, and look where that had got her. Nancy definitely didn’t want to end up like Helen. No, the more Nancy thought about it, she wanted a marriage of equals. James would support her work and she would support his. How they would manage having children she didn’t know. Were nannies expensive? Perhaps they’d have one child. Or two at most. And if she and James were both working, they could pay someone to look after them. Couldn’t they?
Forty-Five
1954
The year turned and Nancy’s experiments with Zalathion were underway. Demand for it was growing, apparently, she was told by Dr Staunton, to whom she reported, but they wanted to make improvements. The sooner she could give them results, the better.
There were five researchers including herself in the ICP lab, the other four all men working on a variety of projects, with only one, Philip Saunders, doing something similar to herself. Her tank of locusts and her microscope were soon joined by a wooden box containing electrical equipment to provide a charge, also a pump to deliver Zalathion in a saline solution. Though under time pressure, it was important to be as meticulous as ever. No one should be given reason to question her results. Her brief period of regular hours was over and she worked as hard as she could.
At the end of January, after a gruelling interview at Prince’s College to defend her thesis, she was informed that she had passed.
‘Dr Nancy Foster!’ James shouted, punching the air after she’d rushed into their old lab to show him the letter formalizing her achievement. The irascible man who now occupied Nancy’s space glared at them, but they ignored him and he stomped out, muttering something about ‘hysterical women’.
She laughed it off and assured James, ‘You’ll do it, too, you’ll get there.’
He put his arms round her. ‘I’m proud of you, Nancy, I really am.’ When he released her, his face was grave. ‘We’ll make a fine pair of scientists, you and I. We’ll do great things.’
She blushed with pleasure at his enthusiasm, but still felt a frisson of unease. How many senior scientists had she come across who were women? None. She was ahead of James at present, but for how long? She thought of Eleanor, recognized for her achievements because she worked with her husband. Frank tried always to put her name before his on their publications, but editors would frequently change them round. And why wouldn’t they? An article by a man carried more authority.
