Coming Home (135 page)

Perfume. The new bottle. L'Heure Bleu. She touched the stopper to the base of her neck, the inside of her wrists. The scent filled her nostrils and induced a sensation of almost sybaritic luxury, and all at once she thought of Diana Carey-Lewis, and how she would appreciate and approve of this new and sophisticated Judith.

She stood, dropped her robe from her shoulders and let it fall to the floor, slid her feet into the high-heeled sling-backs, and then went to pick up the dress which she had laid out on her bed. She put it on, letting it slip over her head, settled the skirts which billowed filmy as black clouds, and then, in all innocence, reached for the zip.

A real predicament. The zip ran all the way up the back of the bodice and proved impossible to negotiate by the person who happened to be wearing the dress. The salesgirl that morning had zipped her into it and out of it, and Judith had not foreseen a problem. But this was clearly a dress that required the assistance of another person. A lady's-maid, perhaps, or a husband, or even a resident lover. But Judith was the possessor of none of these useful appendages, so it would have to be Bob. She picked up the black evening bag and went out of the room and down the passage in search of him, her high heels tap-tapping on the marble floor, and the weightless dress slipping off her shoulders.

He lay in a long chair, with a single lamp for illumination, his whisky to hand, his pipe for company, and Rachmaninoff. He looked so peaceful that it seemed a shame to disturb him.

‘Bob?’

‘Hello.’

‘You have to do up my zip.’

He laughed and pulled himself up into a sitting position, and she knelt with her back to him, and he zipped her up with all the expertise of an old married man. Then she stood, and turned to face him. She felt, suddenly, a bit self-conscious.

‘Do you like it?’

‘Sensational. Did you buy it this morning?’

‘Yes. It was frightfully expensive but I couldn't resist it. And new shoes too. And a new handbag.’

‘You look a million dollars. And you said you didn't know how to shop!’

‘It wasn't too difficult. I learned.’ She sat facing him, at the end of his long chair. ‘Heavenly Rachmaninoff. I wish you were coming too.’

‘Where are you off to?’

‘Some ship. I think an Australian destroyer.’

‘Oh,
that
party. Between you, me, and the gatepost, I received an invitation, but declined. Said I'd got a previous engagement. So don't blow the gaff on me.’

‘I won't. I promise.’

‘I'm getting a bit long in the tooth for all these late nights. Need an evening to myself every now and again. Early night.’

‘If you have an early night how shall I get
out
of my dress?’

‘You can ask Thomas to unzip you. He's sure to wait up until you come home.’

‘Won't he be embarrassed?’

‘Nothing embarrasses Thomas.’

A doorbell pealed. They sat and waited. Heard Thomas padding across the hall to open the front door.

‘Good evening, sahib.’

‘Good evening, Thomas.’

‘The Admiral is on the veranda.’

‘Thank you. I'll find my way.’

An instant later and he was there, stepping out into the dusk from the bright lights of indoors, wearing Number Tens and looking immensely distinguished. He carried his hat under his arm.

Judith smiled up at him. ‘Hello, Hugo.’

He was offered a drink, but politely declined. They were running a bit late anyway, and would be bombarded with cocktails once they got on board.

‘On your way then.’ Bob heaved himself to his feet. ‘I'll see you off.’ He clearly could not wait to be rid of the pair of them and be left in peace with his pipe and his gramophone. He walked them to the front door. Judith kissed him good night, and assured him that she would enjoy herself. Then got into Hugo's car, and they set off for their evening out. As they drove out through the gate, Bob closed the door behind them.

There was a full moon that evening, round and silver as a plate, rising in the east over the roof-tops of the city, and they drove the length of the Galle Road, across the Fort to the harbour on the far side.

An Australian destroyer was berthed at the dockside, her Quarterdeck sparkling with strings of lights, and the cocktail party already in full swing, so that Judith followed Hugo up a gangplank to the buzz of voices and the chink of glasses. It was much the same as the other party, the one that she had come to with Bob, and some of the same faces too, recognisable, but without remembered names to attach them to. Hugo, hand at her elbow, steered her in the direction of the Captain, and they introduced themselves and made the correct noises of appreciation. They were given drinks and offered canapés by attentive hovering stewards. After that, it was down to the old routine of social conversation, fairly meaningless but not unenjoyable.

Presently, Judith, separated from Hugo but quite happily talking to two young Australian lieutenants, felt a hand like a vice close around her wrist, and turning found herself faced by a weather-beaten lady in a tight peacock-coloured dress. ‘My dear…we've met. Bob Somerville introduced us the other evening. Moira Burridge. And you're Judith Dunbar. Divine dress, I love it. Where is the heavenly man?’

Her grip had loosened slightly, and Judith was able to slide her wrist free. One of the young Australian lieutenants, making polite excuses, moved away. The other stayed, stoic, at Judith's side, his smile fixed, as though pleased. ‘Must find him.’ Moira Burridge stood tiptoe (she was not tall) and peered around, over other people's heads. She had enormous eyes, pale as grapes, and her mascara was beginning to melt and smudge. ‘Can't see him anywhere, the brute.’

‘He…he didn't come. A previous engagement.’

‘Oh, bloody hell. Half the fun of these dos is having a crack with Bob.’ Disappointed, she returned her attention to Judith. ‘Who brought
you
then?’

‘Hugo Halley.’

‘Hugo?’
She was the sort of person who, talking, pushed her face very close to one's own. Judith's instinct was to back away, as discreetly as she could, but Moira Burridge simply pressed nearer. ‘When did you meet Hugo? You've only been here for about two minutes. You're staying with Bob, aren't you? How long are you going to be in Colombo? You must come and see us. We'll have a party. Now, what day would suit, I wonder…?’

Judith murmured something about not being quite sure what Bob was doing…

‘I'll give Bob a ring. We've got a flat in the Fort. Rodney's on the staff…’ A thought occurred to her. ‘You know Rodney, don't you?’ Judith felt a bit of Moira Burridge's spit land on her cheek, but was too well mannered to wipe it away. ‘You don't? I'll point him out to you…’

A steward passed by with a tray of drinks, and as he did so, Moira Burridge, quick as a flash, set down her empty glass and helped herself to a full one.

‘…he's over there.’ She hadn't even paused to draw breath. ‘Talking to that two-and-a-half-striper in the Indian Navy.’ Judith, with some difficulty, located Captain Burridge. He was an enormously tall man with a bald head and a face the shape of a pear, but before she could come up with any suitable comment, Moira Burridge was off again.

‘Now, tell me. I haven't got you worked out yet. Some sort of relation, I know. Out from England, or have I got totally the wrong end of the stick?’

Judith said something about Trincomalee.

‘Oh, don't say you're stationed
there.
Poor wretch. Ghastly spot. Mosquitoes. Can't imagine why I thought you'd come out from Home. We've got sprogs at home, both at boarding-school. Spend hols with my mother. Haven't seen the poor little brutes for two years…’

The only good thing about talking to Moira Burridge was that one was clearly not expected to make any sort of response. From time to time Judith nodded, or shook her head, or smiled faintly, but otherwise Mrs Burridge, well oiled by alcohol, simply rattled ceaselessly, pointlessly on. It felt a bit like being run over by a train. Judith, trapped, began to be desperate.

Hugo, where are you? Come quickly and rescue me.

‘…but to be honest, I'm not
actually
looking forward all that much to getting back to England. We've got a house in Petersfield, but it'll be rations and no petrol and
rain.
Worst of all, no servants. We're all so bloody spoilt out here. Where are you dining after this do? Why don't we all join up and have a bite at the Grand Oriental…?’

Horrors.

‘Judith.’ He had come, and not before time. She felt faint with relief. His charming smile was beamed upon Moira Burridge.

‘Good evening, Mrs Burridge, and how are you? Just been having a word with your husband…’

‘Hugo, you devil. Trust you to be squiring the prettiest girl on board. Just suggesting, how about joining up for dinner? We're going to the GOH…’

‘How terribly kind.’ Hugo's expression became one of deep regret. ‘But I'm afraid we can't. We've been asked out for dinner, and we're late already. I think, Judith, perhaps we should take our leave…’

‘Oh, what a bloody shame. Have you really got to go? We were having such a good time, weren't we, dear? A real old gas and still masses to talk about.’ By now she was teetering slightly on her wobbly high heels. ‘Never mind, there'll be another time. We'll get together then…’

Finally, Judith and Hugo managed to ease away. At the head of the gangplank, Judith glanced back and saw that Mrs Burridge had once more replenished her glass, cornered yet another reluctant guest, and was off again, in full flow.

Safe on the dockside and out of earshot of the Officer of the Watch, ‘I've never in all my life met such a dreadful woman,’ she told Hugo.

‘I'm sorry. I should have looked after you better.’ He took her arm and they began to pick their way across the dock, stepping around cranes and crates, and over mammoth cables and chains. ‘She's a famous menace. I'd be sorry for poor Rodney, except that he's such a boring old fart that he deserves her.’

‘I thought I was going to have to spend the rest of the evening with her.’

‘I wouldn't have allowed you to do that.’

‘I was planning a really bad headache. A migraine. Hugo, I didn't know that we'd been asked out for dinner.’

‘We haven't. But I've booked a table at the Salamander, and I didn't want Moira Burridge to know, because otherwise she'd have tried to come too.’

‘I've never heard of the Salamander.’

‘It's a private club. I'm a member. We can have dinner and dance. Unless, of course, you'd prefer the GOH with the Burridges? I can always nip back and tell them we've changed our minds.’

‘You do that and I'll shoot you.’

‘In that case, the Salamander it is.’

They had left his car by the dockyard gates. They got back into it, and set off, leaving the Fort and driving south into a district of wide streets and old Dutch houses, that was unfamiliar to Judith. Ten minutes, and they had arrived. An impressive gabled building, set back off the street, with a high gate and a circular driveway leading to the main door. Very discreet; no signs, no flashing lights. There was a doorman, in a green uniform and a magnificent turban and another minion to park the car. They went up the wide stairway, and through the carved doorway into a marble foyer with pillars and a wonderfully ornate ceiling. Then through another pair of doors, and so to a large enclosed courtyard, open to the sky and surrounded by wide terraces, for dining. In the centre was the dance floor. Most of the tables were already occupied, each lit by a red-shaded lamp, but the dance floor's only illumination was the huge rising moon. A band was playing. South American music. A samba, or a rumba or something. A number of couples circled the floor, some expert, others less so but doing their best to keep time and beat with the insidious rhythm.

‘Commander Halley.’ The head-waiter, in starched jacket and white sarong, come to greet them. They were led to their table, settled in chairs and huge napkins were unfolded and laid on their laps. The menus were produced. The head-waiter, soft-footed, moved away.

Across the table, their eyes met.

‘Is this all right for you?’ he asked.

‘Amazing. I'd no idea such a place existed.’

‘It's only been going six months. With a very limited membership. I was lucky enough to get in on the ground floor. Now there's a waiting list.’