Coming Home (66 page)

‘I'll be called up.’

‘Right away?’

‘Yes. I'm in the Territorial Army. The Gordon Highlanders. My home regiment. I joined the battalion in 1938, after Hitler walked into Czechoslovakia.’

‘What does being a Territorial mean?’

‘A part-time professional soldier.’

‘Are you trained?’

‘Up to a point. Two weeks in a TA camp every summer. I am now quite capable of firing a gun and slaying the enemy.’

‘Provided he doesn't slay you first.’

‘Yes. That's a point.’

‘Edward's going into the Royal Air Force.’

‘I know. I suppose you can say we both saw the writing on the wall.’

‘What about Cambridge?’

‘If the balloon does go up, then we shan't return. Our final examinations will have to wait.’

‘For the end of the war?’

‘I suppose so.’

Loveday sighed. ‘What a waste.’ She thought about this. ‘Does everybody at Cambridge feel the same way as you and Edward?’

‘By no means. Political attitudes vary widely amongst the undergraduates. Some are left wing as they can possibly be, without taking the final step and becoming committed Communists. The more courageous of these have already disappeared, gone to fight the war in Spain.’

‘Terribly brave.’

‘Yes. Brave. Not particularly sensible but enormously brave. And then there are others who believe that pacifism is the answer, and others again who carry on like a lot of ostriches, sticking their heads in the sand and carrying on as though nothing nasty was ever going to happen.’ Thinking about this, he suddenly laughed. ‘There's one impossible fellow, called Peregrine Haslehurst…’

‘I don't believe it. Nobody could be called that!’

‘I promise you, it's true. From time to time when at a loose end, he seeks me out and graciously allows me either to pour him or buy him a drink. His conversation is invariably trivial, but should more serious matters come up for discussion, his attitude always strikes me as light-hearted to the point of lunacy. As though a new war held no more threat than a cricket match, or the Wall Game at Eton, which is where Peregrine whiled away his boyhood years.’

‘Perhaps he's just pretending. Perhaps he's really just as apprehensive as the rest of us.’

‘The English sang-froid, you mean? The stiff upper lip? The genius for understatement?’

‘I don't know. I suppose so.’

‘Characteristics I find intensely annoying. They make me think of Peter Pan, flying off with his little sword to do battle with Captain Hook.’

‘I hated Peter Pan,’ said Loveday. ‘I simply hated that book.’

‘How extraordinary, so did I.
To die will be an awfully good big adventure.
That must be the stupidest line that any man ever wrote.’

‘I don't think it would be a bit adventurous to die. And I don't suppose Aunt Lavinia thinks so either.’ Loveday fell silent, thinking about Aunt Lavinia who, for a moment or two, she had actually forgotten. She said, ‘What time is it?’

‘Half past four. Someone should buy you a watch.’

‘They do but I always lose them. Perhaps we should go back.’ She unfolded her long legs and abruptly stood up, all at once impatient to be off. ‘The others should be home before long. I do hope nothing awful's happened.’

He decided that anything he said to this would sound empty and hollow, so he said nothing. It had been pleasant sitting in the sun with his back to the rock, but he pulled himself to his feet and felt the smack of the wind, chill through the thick wool of his sweater. ‘Then let's make a start; and this time how about keeping to a reasonable pace?’

He spoke light-heartedly, knowing that it wasn't much of a joke. Not that it mattered, because Loveday was not listening. She had paused, turned away from him, as though reluctant to leave the cliffs and the gulls and the tempestuous sea, and return to reality. And in that moment, Gus saw, not Loveday, but the Laura Knight girl, the picture that he had stealthily removed, so long ago, from the pages of
The Studio.
Even her clothes, the worn tennis shoes, the striped cotton skirt, the aged cricket sweater (rather charmingly stained with raspberry juice) were the same. Only the hair was different. No russet plait lying like a heavy rope over one shoulder. Instead Loveday's chrysanthemum mop of dark, shining curls, ruffled by the wind.

Slowly, they retraced their steps, following the path down which Gus had hurtled after her. Now, Loveday seemed in little hurry. They crossed the floor of the quarry, and scrambled up the steps that rose to the top of the shaly cliff. Then, up through the woods, pausing from time to time to pause for breath, to loiter on one of the small wooden bridges and watch the dark waters of the stream flow away beneath their feet. By the time they finally emerged from the trees, and the house had appeared, standing above them, Gus was warm with exertion. The sheltered gardens basked in the sun, streaming down across closely mown lawns, and he stopped for a moment to shed his sweater, stripping it off over his head and slinging it over his shoulder. While he did this, Loveday waited for him. He caught her eye, and she smiled. As they set off again, ‘It's so annoying,’ she told him, ‘because on a really hot day, by the time you've got this far, all you really want is another swim…’

She stopped abruptly. A sound had caught her ear. Her smile died, and she stood very still, listening. From far off, Gus heard the engine of an approaching car. Looking, he saw it: a stately Daimler emerging from the trees at the head of the drive, crossing the gravel, and drawing to a halt by the side of the house.

‘They're back.’ Walking up from the cove, chattering inconsequently, Loveday had seemed quite cheerful, but now her voice was filled with apprehension. ‘Pops and Edward are back. Oh, I wonder what's happened…’ And, abandoning Gus, she ran ahead, racing across the grass and up the slopes of the terraces. He heard her calling to them. ‘Why have you all been so long? What's happening? Is everything all right…?’

Gus, praying that it was, followed at a deliberately slow pace. All at once, his confidence ebbed away, and he found himself wishing that he were any place but here, that he had never come. Under the circumstances, Edward had every excuse to forget altogether about his Cambridge friend, so casually invited to stay; and on seeing him would feel compelled to feign pleasure and welcome. For a moment Gus wished heartily that he had followed his original instinct, which had been to put his suitcases back into his car and drive away. It was Loveday who had persuaded him to remain. Probably mistakenly. This, most certainly, was not the time to be an unknown guest.

But it was too late now to rectify the situation. Slowly, he climbed the wide stone stairway which bisected the top terrace, and stepped forward onto level ground. The Daimler stood there, parked alongside his own car, the doors still open. Its occupants formed a little group, but Edward, seeing Gus, detached himself from this and came forward smiling and with his arms outstretched.

‘Gus! Great to see you.’

So clearly delighted was he that all reservations melted. Gus was filled with gratitude. He said, ‘You too.’

‘Sorry about all this…’

‘I'm the one who should be sorry…’

‘What have you got to be sorry for?’

‘It's just that I have this gut feeling that I shouldn't be here.’

‘Oh, don't be a bloody idiot. I asked you…’

‘Your butler told me about your aunt being so ill. Are you sure it's all right if I stay?’

‘You being here isn't going to make any difference one way or another. Except you'll help to cheer us all up. And as for Aunt Lavinia, she seems to be holding her own. And she's such a tough old bird, I refuse to believe that she's going to do anything else. Now, did you have a good drive? How long did it take? I hope you got some sort of a welcome and that Loveday didn't abandon you to your own devices. I left her with strict instructions to take care of you.’

‘And so she did. We've been down to the cove.’

‘Wonders will never cease. She's not usually that social. Now, come and meet my father and Mary…’ Edward turned back to the others and stopped, frowning in some puzzlement. ‘Except that Mary seems to have disappeared.’ He shrugged. ‘Hopefully to alert Mrs Nettlebed and tell her to get the kettle on. But, at least, meet my father. Pops!’

The Colonel was deep in conversation with his daughter, and clearly doing his best to comfort and reassure her. But, on hearing Edward call him, he stopped talking and looked up, saw Gus, and set Loveday gently aside. He came forward, his brogues crunching on the gravel, tall and tweedy and scarecrow-thin, and if he harboured any reservations about a stranger's turning up to stay beneath his roof at this particular and inopportune moment, he kept them to himself. Gus saw only the gentle expression in his pale eyes, and the shy smile of genuine pleasure.

‘Gus, this is my father, Edgar Carey-Lewis. And, Pops, this is Gus Callender.’

‘How do you do, sir.’

The Colonel thrust out his hand, and Gus took it in his own. ‘Gus, my dear fellow,’ said Edward's father. ‘How good of you to come, and how splendid to see you.’

The following morning, at ten o'clock, Edward Carey-Lewis rang Warren's Grocery in Porthkerris and asked to speak to Judith.

‘Who shall I say?’ inquired the unknown female and very Cornish voice.

‘Just Edward.’

‘Hold on.’

He held on.
Judith there? Tell her she's wanted.
The female voice, presumably screeching up a flight of stairs, reached him distantly, over the receiver. He waited. She came.

‘Hello?’ Her voice was thin with anxiety. ‘Edward?’

‘Good morning.’

‘What is it?’

‘It's okay. Good news.’

‘Aunt Lavinia?’

‘She seems to have pulled through. We got word from The Dower House. Apparently she woke up this morning, asked the night nurse what on earth she was doing sitting by her bed, and demanded a cup of tea.’

‘I simply don't
believe it
.’

‘So Pops and Ma shot straight off to see the old girl and check on the general situation, and I thought I'd better ring you.’

‘Oh, you must all be so
relieved.
Darling old thing.’

‘Wicked old thing, more like, giving us all a scare. And everybody flying back from all points of the compass to be here. Ma arrived last night, looking pretty exhausted, and Athena and Rupert are already on their way from Scotland. Like Gus, we don't know where they are, so we can't ring them and tell them to turn round and go back to Auchnafechle or wherever it is they were staying. The whole thing has turned into a complete circus.’

‘That doesn't matter. All that matters is that she's going to get better.’

‘When are you coming back?’

‘Sunday.’

‘If she's fit for visitors, I'll take you to see her.’

‘Sunday morning. I'll be back on Sunday morning.’

‘It's a date, then. How are you?’

‘Beginning to wish I was with you all.’

‘Don't wish too hard. It's a bit like living in the middle of Piccadilly Circus. But I miss you. There's a hole in the house without you.’

‘Oh, Edward.’

‘See you Sunday morning.’

‘Goodbye. And thank you for ringing up.’