Coming Home (49 page)

‘But of course. What is it?’

‘Well, it's this…’

‘No, don't tell me until you've got something to eat. We shall discuss your problem then. Never make any sort of a decision on an empty stomach.’

She smiled, and was filled with affection for him. Over the years she had been coming to Nancherrow she had become deeply fond of the Colonel, and their relationship had very soon lost its initial shyness, and become, if never intimate, then easy. As for him, he treated Judith, if not as one of his own daughters, then certainly as though she were a favourite niece. And so, obediently, she went to the sideboard, helped herself to a boiled egg and a cup of tea, and then returned to the table to sit beside him.

‘Now. What is it?’

She explained. ‘It's Christmas presents. I haven't bought any. I couldn't at school, and there wasn't time before I came here. I've sent the family ones off, of course, ages ago, because you have to if they're to get to Singapore in time, but that's all. And I've just made a list, and I've got to get seventeen for everybody here.’

‘Seventeen?’ He looked mildly amazed. ‘Are we really as many as that?’

‘Well, we will be, by Christmas.’

‘So what do you want me to do?’

‘Well, nothing really. I just wondered if there was a car going to Penzance, so that I could go too and shop. I didn't want to say anything to Diana, because she's got so much to do here, with all her guests arriving and everything. But I thought maybe
you
might be able to fix something.’

‘You were quite right to come to me. Diana's spinning like a top. Impossible to get a sensible word out of her.’ He smiled. ‘Why don't you and I go together, to Penzance, this morning?’

‘Oh, but I didn't mean that you had to drive me…’

‘I know you didn't, but I have to go in anyway, to the bank, and it may as well be this morning rather than any other time.’ He raised his head to gaze from the window as another assault of rain and wind was driven in from the sea. ‘There's little else one can do on such a day.’

‘Do you
really
have to go to the bank?’

‘Yes, I really do. As you know, I'm not much of a shopper, so all my loved ones receive for Christmas an envelope with a bit of cash inside. It's so unimaginative that I try to make it more exciting by seeing that the bank notes are new ones, fresh and crisp. And those I shall collect this morning.’

‘But that won't take you a moment, and I shall be at least two hours. I don't want you hanging about, waiting for me.’

‘I shall go to the club, read the papers, see a few friends and at the appropriate moment, buy myself a drink.’ He shot his cuff and looked at his watch. ‘If we waste no time, we can be in Penzance by ten o'clock, which should ensure that, without too much pressure, we should be back here in time for lunch. We must arrange a rendezvous. I suggest The Mitre Hotel at half past twelve. So that will allow you two and a half hours to make your purchases. If Diana is anything to go by, two hours is insufficient. A mere flea-bite. It takes her half a day to choose a hat.’

He so seldom made any sort of a joke that Judith wanted to hug him, but didn't. Instead, ‘Oh, you are kind,’ she told him. ‘I'm so grateful. You've taken such a load off my mind.’

‘You must never keep your worries to yourself. Promise me that. And I shall enjoy your company. Now, be a dear girl, and pour me another cup of coffee…’

In Penzance the weather was no better. In fact, if anything, worse. Streets ran with rogue water, and overflowing gutters were awash with scraps of rubbish and broken twigs torn from trees. Beleaguered shoppers struggled with umbrellas, only to have them blown inside out, and hats were torn from heads, to go bowling away into oblivion. From time to time, slates, dislodged from roofs, came sailing down to smash into smithereens on pavements, and so dark was the morning that lights inside shops and offices burnt through the daylight hours. From the beach could be distinctly heard the sullen crash of high-tide rollers, and talk was all of disaster: flooded houses, fallen trees, and the vulnerability of the swimming pool, promenade, and harbour.

It felt a bit like being in a siege, but not unexciting; bundled up in rubber boots, a black oilskin, and with a woollen hat pulled down over her ears, Judith fought her way from shop to shop, gradually becoming laden with parcels, packages, and carrier bags.

At half past eleven, she found herself in W. H. Smith, the stationers, having bought presents for everybody except Edward. She had left his present to the last for two reasons. She couldn't think what to get for him, and she couldn't allow herself to be totally certain that he would actually
be
at Nancherrow for Christmas.
He'll be back from Arosa,
Diana had promised, but one couldn't be
sure,
and Judith so longed to see him again that she had become deeply superstitious about the whole business. It was a bit like taking an umbrella on a picnic as an insurance against a possible downpour. If she didn't buy him a present, then he would be bound to turn up, and Judith would have nothing to give him. But if she did, perhaps she was tempting Providence, and sure as eggs were eggs, he would decide, at the last moment, to stay on in Arosa with his friends. She imagined the telegram from Switzerland being delivered to Nancherrow; Diana, opening the envelope and reading the message aloud,
TERRIBLY SORRY, STAYING ON HERE FOR CHRISTMAS AFTER ALL. SEE YOU ALL AT NEW YEAR.
Or something. Perhaps…

‘Can you get out of my way, please?’ An irritated lady, trying to get to the counter with a box of writing-paper, disturbed these morose reflections.

‘Sorry…’ Judith gathered up her bundles and moved aside, but the small incident had brought her to her senses. Of course she must buy a present for Edward. If he didn't come home for Christmas, then she would give it to him later on. Surrounded by piles of lovely new books, she thought about getting him a book, but then decided against it. Instead…Feeling strong and determined, she plunged once more out into the wind and the rain and set off up Market Jew Street in the direction of Medways.

Even this old-fashioned shop, usually quiet and rather dull, was touched by the seasonal cheer. Paper bells hung from the lights, and there were more customers than usual — homely ladies buying sensible grey woollen socks for their spouses, or agonising over the collar size of a new shirt. But Judith didn't want to buy socks for Edward, and she was certain that he had plenty of shirts. Debating the problem, and with water dripping from her oilskin into a small pool in the middle of the polished floor, she might have stood forever had not the most elderly of the salesmen approached her, and, faced by him, she was galvanised into decision.

She said, ‘A scarf?’

‘For a Christmas present, is it?’

‘Yes.’ She thought about it. ‘Something bright. Not navy blue or grey. Red, perhaps.’

‘How about tartan? We've got some lovely tartan scarves. They're cashmere, though, and quite pricey.’

Cashmere. A tartan cashmere scarf. She imagined Edward with such a luxury knotted casually around his neck.

She said, ‘I don't mind if it's a bit expensive.’

‘Well, let's have a look then, shall we?’

She chose the brightest, red and green with a dash of yellow. The salesman retreated to wrap it for her, and she got out her cheque-book and her pen, and waited for him to return. Standing at the counter, she looked about her with some affection, for this fuddy-duddy old shop had been the unlikely venue for momentous memories. It was here that she had first set eyes on Diana Carey-Lewis and Loveday; and it was here that she had come that special day with Edward, and helped him to choose his tweed, and afterwards he had taken her out for lunch.

‘…there you are now, miss.’

‘Thank you.’ He had wrapped the scarf in holly paper.

‘And this is your bill…’

Judith wrote her cheque. As she did this, the door from the street opened behind her. There was a momentary gale of a draught, and then the door closed again. She signed her name, tore off the cheque, and handed it over.

From behind her, a voice said her name. Startled, she turned, and found herself face to face with Edward.

Speechless shock lasted only for an instant, to be almost immediately replaced by a joyous leaping of her heart. She could feel the smile spreading across her face, her jaw drop in wonderment.

‘
Edward!
’

‘Surprise, surprise!’

‘But what are you
doing
…?How did you
get
…?What are you
doing
here?’

‘Came looking for you.’

‘I thought you were still in Arosa.’

‘Got back this morning, on the night train from London.’

‘But…’

‘Look’ — he laid a hand on her arm and gave her a little shake — ‘we can't talk here. Let's get out.’ He looked down at the plethora of carriers and parcels by which she was surrounded. ‘Is this all yours?’ He sounded disbelieving.

‘Christmas shopping.’

‘Have you finished?’

‘I have now.’

‘Then let's go.’

‘Where to?’

‘The Mitre. Where else? Isn't that where you're meeting Pops?’

She frowned. ‘Yes, but…’

‘All will be explained.’ He was already gathering up her packages, and with two hands filled, making his way towards the door. Swiftly, she collected up the few items he had left on the floor, and hurried after him. He opened the heavy glass door with his shoulder and stood waiting until she had gone through, and then they were out in the rain-driven streets, heads down against the wind, crossing the road with Edward's usual lack of care and attention, and running down Chapel Street headed for the warmth and shelter of the old Mitre Hotel. Inside, he led her into the lounge, which smelt beery and of last night's cigarettes, but where there was a welcome fire, and no other people to disturb them.

They proceeded to make themselves at home. Edward piled all her packages in a neat pile on the floor, and with this accomplished, ‘Come on, get that soaking coat off and warm yourself up,’ he told her. ‘Shall I order some coffee? It'll probably taste disgusting, but with a bit of luck it'll be hot.’ Looking about him, he found a bell by the fireplace and went to press it. Judith unbuttoned her oilskin and laid it, for lack of anywhere better, over the back of an upright chair, where it slowly dripped, like a faulty tap, onto the faded Turkey carpet. She pulled off her woollen hat and shook her damp hair loose.

A very old waiter appeared at the door. Edward said, ‘We'd like some coffee, please. Lots of it. Perhaps two pots. And biscuits.’

Judith found a comb in her bag, and tried to do something about her hair. There was a mirror over the mantelpiece and if she stood on tiptoe she could get a reflection. She saw her own face, her cheeks rosy from the wind and her eyes bright as stars. Happiness shows, she thought. She put her comb away, and turned to face him.

He looked wonderful; unshaven, but wonderful. Very tanned and hard and fit. Having ordered the coffee, he had divested himself of the sodden ski jacket, and beneath it wore corduroys and a navy-blue roll-neck sweater. The corduroys were dark with wet, and when he came to stand near the roaring fire, they steamed gently in the heat.

She said, ‘You look great.’

‘So do you.’

‘We didn't know you were coming home.’

‘I never sent a telegram or anything. But I was always coming. I wouldn't miss Christmas for all the skiing in the world. And if I'd said
when
I was coming, then Ma would have been fussing about meeting trains and all that crap. Better to be without deadlines, specially when you're travelling from Europe. You never know if you're going to catch the train, or if the ferry's going to run.’

Judith understood his point of view, and decided that it was a very good philosophy. But…‘So when did you get here?’ she asked him.

He reached into his trouser pocket for his cigarettes and lighter, and she had to wait for his answer until he had got the cigarette going. He blew out a cloud of smoke, and smiled at her. ‘I told you. Night train. Got in at seven o'clock this morning.’

‘With nobody there to meet you.’

He looked around for somewhere to sit, and chose an ancient armchair which he shoved and shunted across the carpet in order to be close to the fire. Into this he then collapsed.