Coming Home (123 page)

‘Family?’

‘No, not family. My best friend.’ Bullies, she remembered from school-days at Porthkerris, needed to be stood up to. ‘Her parents looked after me when my own parents went abroad.’ First Officer's expression of disbelief indicated that she thought that Wren Dunbar was trying to pull a fast one. ‘Now, I only have an aunt, and I want to go and stay with her. Besides,’ she finished, ‘I'm due for leave. I haven't had any since before Christmas. Ma'm.’

First Officer lowered her eyes in order to scan Judith's leave chit. ‘Have you spoken to Lieutenant Commander Crombie?’

‘Yes. He says it's all right, if you say so.’

First Officer bit her lip, ostentatiously pondering. Judith, standing on the other side of the desk in subservient fashion, thought how satisfactory it would be to pick up the sturdy naval issue in-tray, and smash it down on top of the other woman's Eton-cropped head. Finally, First Officer sighed. ‘Oh, very well. But seven days. That should give you plenty of time.’

Mean old bag. ‘Thank you very much, ma'm.’ She made for the door, but before she could open it, First Officer spoke again.

‘Dunbar.’

‘Yes, ma'm.’

‘I think you should get your hair cut. It looks rather untidy. Touching your collar.’

‘Yes, ma'm.’

‘All right. You can go now.’

‘A
week?
’ Lieutenant Commander Crombie repeated, when she told him about the unsatisfactory interview. ‘What on earth's the old—?’ He caught himself up just in time. ‘What is First Officer thinking about! There's no reason why you shouldn't take a fortnight. I'll speak to her.’

‘Oh, don't,’ Judith implored, imagining an embarrassing show-down in the middle of the Wardroom. ‘If you speak to her, she'll never forgive me. She'll think I put you up to it.’

‘A week…scarcely give you time to get there and back again.’

‘Yes, it does. It's heaps of time. I'll go on the Thursday, and come back on the following Thursday. Please don't say anything, otherwise she'll drum up some crisis and stop all leave.’

‘Even she couldn't do that.’

‘I wouldn't be too certain. She even told me to get my hair cut.’

Lieutenant Commander Crombie said, ‘I think your hair's perfect just as it is,’ an observation which took them both by surprise. Judith stared at him in some astonishment, and he was clearly taken aback by his own impulsive words, because at once he began to busy himself, unnecessarily rearranging papers on his desk-top. ‘So’ — he cleared his throat — ‘in that case…we'd better leave things the way they are. You'll just have to make the most of every day.’

‘Don't worry.’ Judith gave him a warm and affectionate smile. ‘I will.’

She went, closing the door behind her, and he was left on his own, needing a moment to compose himself, and deeply regretting his thoughtless remark. But it had just slipped out, and she was such a charming and attractive girl. Cornwall. She had her own little house there. He knew, because she had talked about it, described it to him. For a moment he indulged in the rare luxury of his own imagination, allowing himself a young man's fantasy in which she would invite him to accompany her, and there would be nothing to stop his going. Responsibilities of the Royal Navy, his job, his wife and his son, all abandoned.
A land of summer beyond the seas.
They would walk together on windy cliffs, swim in the blue Atlantic ocean, dine in delectable inns by candle-light; sleep at night with the sound of breaking waves whispering through the open windows…

His telephone shrilled, jerking him back to cruel reality. He reached out a hand to lift the receiver. ‘T.D.O.,’ he barked, and it was his captain on the other end of the line.

The dream faded and was gone, which, at the end of the day, was probably just as well.

The Dower House,

Rosemullion,

Cornwall

Sunday 31st May.

My darling Bob,

Well, the wedding is over, and the happy pair on a three-day honeymoon at the Castle Hotel in Porthkerris.

Goodness, I missed you and wished you had been there, not just because of the occasion, but because of me. I've never before been to a wedding without you and it felt very odd. I may add that you were missed by everybody, but I said a little prayer for you, stuck up there in Scapa Flow. Now I'm on my own. Judith, Phyllis, and Anna have all taken a picnic down to Nancherrow Cave, so I am able to sit down and write and tell you all about the wedding while it is still fresh in my mind.

Start on Thursday, when Judith arrived. It was a rather dismal, wet day, but I took the car into Penzance and met her off the
Riviera.
She'd had a tedious journey, having had to change at Bristol and wait two hours for the London train. Standing on the platform, I felt a bit apprehensive. I hadn't seen her for months, and so much that is truly shattering has happened since we were last together. I was afraid that she would have changed in some way, become withdrawn, and that there would be a sort of barrier between us. We have always been so close, and I never want that to change. But it was all right, although I was shocked to see her so colourless and thin. I suppose that's not surprising, because she has been through (and is still enduring) such a harrowing time.

Anyway, we got home to The Dower House, and she behaved exactly like a small girl back for the school holidays, i.e., tore off her uniform and put on comfortable old clothes, and then went from room to room, looking out the windows, touching the furniture, checking every detail of her own little domain. And I must say, it all looked at its best. Phyllis has been working like a slave, polishing floors, washing curtains, and weeding the borders, and Judith's bedroom was shining for her, full of fresh flowers and smelling of clean linen.

That night, after she was in bed, I went to say good night, and we sat and talked for hours. Mostly about Molly and Bruce and Jess. On their account, she is determined to remain resolutely hopeful, but I don't imagine we shall get word of any of them until the end of hostilities. Then we talked about Ned and Edward Carey-Lewis, and I asked about her love-life, but she doesn't seem to have one, and, for the time being, doesn't even seem to want one. Wary, I think. Once bitten, twice shy. Which is understandable. So we talked about Loveday and Walter instead. Neither of us are terribly happy about this wedding, but won't admit it to a soul, not even Phyllis. And certainly neither Diana nor Edgar Carey-Lewis, who are carrying on as though Loveday were marrying the only man they would have chosen for her. And all credit to them for that. Whatever, it's nothing to do with either of us, though I think we would both be happier about it if Loveday
weren't
having a baby. I left Judith, finally, at half past midnight, with a glass of hot milk and a sleeping pill, and the next morning she looked a different person, with some of the strain gone from her face and a bit of colour in her cheeks. What a healing place this is!

So, Friday, she went off on her bike to Nancherrow to see them all, and to inspect Loveday's new house, which is not yet finished. While she was away, Phyllis's Mum appeared, having hitched a lift from St Just in the vegetable van, and she bore Anna away for the weekend, as Anna was not invited to the wedding, and Phyllis would have much more fun without a foal at foot, as it were. Friday afternoon was spent gathering wild flowers with which to decorate the church, and Friday evening spent decorating. Athena and Diana and Mary Millyway were there as well, and we all worked until it was dark and we could no longer see what we were doing. So we swept up all the mess, and came home.

Saturday. Wedding day, and would you believe it, all the clouds had been blown away and it was the most perfect day. I could imagine Diana crowing with glee. Only
she
could have got away with it. A late breakfast, and then we all got into our rather outworn finery, which I won't describe to you, because I am sure you are not in the least interested. Except to tell you that Judith had no hat, so she put on Lavinia Boscawen's old leghorn straw that she used to garden in. Phyllis trimmed it with a rose-pink ribbon, and Judith looked perfectly sweet.

So, the wedding. We walked down the hill, and all that was missing was the peal of bells. I have to admit, the church looked really lovely, lacy with cow-parsley and garlands of honeysuckle, and great jugs of white marguerite daisies. Gradually the pews filled up until the place was packed. One side rather smart, and morning coats; the other side not quite so formal but twice as dressy, with lots of carnations and maidenhair fern pinned to ample bosoms. Diana looked a dream in pale-turquoise silk, and the Colonel immensely distinguished in a grey frock-coat. Athena Rycroft wore a cream suit, and little Clementina Rycroft was a fairly inefficient bridesmaid, removing her shoes and socks in the porch, scratching her bottom as she walked down the aisle, and ending up on Mary Millyway's knee sucking jube-jubes.

As for the bride and groom, they made an extraordinarily attractive couple. Walter is really good-looking, in his dark gypsy way, and he'd had a haircut and a shave. The best man was a bit rough at the edges, but managed not to lose the ring, and Loveday looked enchanting in white voile, white stockings, and white ballet slippers. No veil, no jewellery. Just a wreath of marguerite daisies on her shining dark head.

Then, safely over, and photographs outside the church, and a bit of confetti thrown about, and the happy couple driven away (Nettlebed at the wheel) in Diana's open Bentley. The rest of us piled into the two charabancs that Edgar Carey-Lewis had arranged, and any leftovers hitched rides in cars. (Hetty, the Nancherrow kitchen maid, who's a bit simple, managed to hop in with the Lord Lieutenant. Perhaps not as simple as she looks.)

Nancherrow was looking suitably festive, with a Union Jack fluttering at the top of the flagstaff, and flowers everywhere, inside and out. The courtyard, sunlit and sheltered from the wind, had been transformed. Hay-bales all around the walls, doves fluttering about, and the dovecote turned into a maypole with fluttering yards of coloured ribbon. Long tables, white damask table-cloths, and all set for luncheon with the best silver and glass. Most important, the bar, laden with bottles and tumblers, and as well a couple of barrels of beer. Caterers' waiters busy as bees, and soon everybody had a glass in their hands, and the fun began.

We sat down to lunch at about half past two, and with rationing, and all things considered, it really was a feast. Everybody had contributed whatever way they could, so there was cold salmon and roast pork, and wonderful puddings coated with cream. I sat between Mr Baines, Judith's solicitor, and Mr Warren, from Porthkerris, and we found plenty to talk about. The meal took quite a long time, but finally the Lord Lieutenant got to his feet to propose the toast. By now a good many menfolk (to say nothing of the womenfolk) were well away, and he got a great reception, much applause and a few cat-calls, which were swiftly hushed. Walter made a speech (adequate), and then the best man (incoherent), and after all, we all went on enjoying ourselves. By now it was nearly five o'clock, and we suddenly realised that the bride and groom were on their way, so we all rushed off to the front door and stood about, waiting for them to appear. Which they did, and Loveday flung her bouquet at Judith, who neatly fielded it, and then they got back into the Bentley and Nettlebed drove them, in some state, to the end of the drive, where they changed into Mr Mudge's old car and rattled off to Porthkerris.

(I'm glad Nettlebed didn't have to drive them all the way to Porthkerris, because, for the first time in his life, he'd been a little indiscreet, and had drunk far too much. Nettlebed, tipsy, is truly a sight to be seen, dignified as ever, despite a certain unsteadiness of the legs. At one moment he was observed waltzing with Hetty. One can only hope that, in the fullness of time, Mrs Nettlebed will forgive him his lapse.)

So that was it. We all said goodbye and came back to Rosemullion, and Judith and I took Morag for a long brisk walk because the poor doggie had been shut up all day, and then she and I went back to Nancherrow for a family supper with the Carey-Lewises. Afterwards, we washed up the supper dishes, because the Nettlebeds had retired to bed.