First Friends (16 page)

The kettle boiled.

Kate made some coffee and, taking it back to the table, sat down,
pulling her writing paper towards her. She read through what she had written, sipped some coffee and picked up her pen.

‘I was very sorry to hear that you won't be home for Christmas but I quite understand that, since you may not get the chance to drive another boat, you want to make the most of this one. At least you know the run to Nova Scotia and you always enjoy Halifax, don't you? How kind of Liz and James to offer to put you up. When does their exchange finish?'

T
HE BREEDER HAD ADVISED
Kate to buy a bitch puppy. Kate planned to mate her in due course and then keep the pick of the litter so that she would have two really good breeding bitches. She wondered whether to take the new puppy to shows as soon as she was old enough so as to start building up a reputation.

‘Well, I do hope you're not going to turn into one of those tweedy women, with sensible shoes and hairy chins,' said Cass, when Kate told her these plans. ‘You seem to be getting rather serious about all this.'

‘That's because I
am
serious, Cass. Look, I've got to do something with my life. I probably see Mark, on average and not consecutively, for about twelve weeks of the year. What am I supposed to do for the other forty? Go to coffee mornings? Raise money for charity? Do meals-on-wheels?'

‘Sorry, Kate.' Cass was contrite. Since her outburst she had been very wary on this subject. ‘It's just that I didn't realise you were such a doggy person. That's all.'

‘We were always knee deep in them at home. We used to walk hound puppies and my mother used to train retrievers to the gun. I might do that later on.'

‘It's a pity you haven't had any more children. What did actually happen about that? I thought that you were just going to stop taking the pill.'

‘I did in the end. I took your advice. I thought it would be so nice to have a second baby, well, third, of course, but knowing all the pitfalls.
In a way, the twins were a nightmare when they were small. All through that winter in that terrible flat with no heating, no washing machine. I had to wash everything by hand and drape it round the kitchen to dry. All those nappies! And that awful stove! Humping coal and ashes to and fro. I got so tired. If one cried, the other would start up. I remember walking up and down in the night, freezing to death, trying to carry both of them. Often I'd cry with them. I must be crazy even to think of wanting more. I used to be so anxious, so terrified that they were ill. They'd cry for hours and then, suddenly, they'd go to sleep and I'd think “My God! They've died!” and I'd go and poke them and they'd wake up and start crying again.'

‘Poor Kate.' Cass couldn't help laughing. ‘I was lucky. I had Tom around, on and off, and Charlotte was very good. I can't somehow see Mark being good with babies.'

‘He hated it! He simply couldn't cope with them crying. He said he could sympathise with people who bash babies' heads on walls to make them shut up. So even when he was at home, I didn't dare trust them to him and he couldn't bear to have his nose put out of joint for a second. The relief when he went back to sea was enormous. But when they got to about six months, it all changed and I loved it. I feel that I'd be much calmer with a second—well, third. You know what I mean?'

‘Oh, definitely. I was much more relaxed with Oliver. But how long have you been off the pill?'

‘Oh, years. Since that Christmas when we came down and stayed with your father and he had the Christmas tree. I was so happy; all the children and Oliver a baby. And I went on down to Cornwall and James and Sarah had just had their second, little Lizzie. They were there as well. And I had this terrible ache, you know? I longed for another one so much. But nothing happens. It's very odd. It was practically first time off with the twins.'

‘Perhaps you're too anxious. After all, they're away so much, aren't they? Then they dash in for a week, or it may be two, and it's
the wrong time of the month or you're so uptight that it doesn't work.'

‘Perhaps you're right.' Kate sighed. ‘The thing is, the twins are nearly seven now and I'm beginning to wonder if it's a bit late.'

‘Well, you could try a bit longer. After all, you'll be pretty lonely when the twins go away next year. I'm lucky to have a girl as the eldest. When I send Oliver I shall still have Charlotte. I plan to have another girl soon so that when Saul goes off I still shan't be alone.'

‘I should have thought you might find it quite convenient to be without your children hanging round you,' remarked Kate mischievously.

Cass smiled blandly at her. ‘What can you mean? I adore my children. Plenty of time for amusement when they're in bed or at school. Which reminds me. It's very quiet upstairs, isn't it? Do you think that we should go and see what our offspring are up to?'

B
Y THIS TIME
, K
ATE
and the twins were perfectly capable of enjoying a Christmas without Mark. Nevertheless, Kate was delighted to receive an invitation to the Ball at the Britannia Royal Naval College at Dartmouth.

George Lampeter had been invited and was looking for a partner.

‘Could you save my life?' he asked her on the telephone. ‘I know Mark's away but I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you took pity on me, would he? I can't think of anyone I'd rather escort.'

Kate bit back the retort ‘What about Felicity?' and accepted with pleasure. ‘Who else is coming?' she asked.

‘Well, Felicity and Mark,' he replied, dead on cue, and added some others whom Kate knew well. ‘Should be fun. Bless you, Kate. Listen, I'm staying with friends in Dartmouth and the snag is getting you over here. Would you mind coming with Felicity and Mark or is that too much to ask?'

‘My dear George,' said Kate, amused, she was sure that Felicity—who would not want George appearing with a glamorous dolly bird—was behind the invitation, ‘I'd hardly expect you to act like the
lovelorn swain. That'll be fine. I haven't been to the college since the Passing Out Parade and Summer Ball with Mark all those years ago. It'll be a marvellous treat.'

So Kate went, bundled into the back of Mark II's car, listening with half an ear to his and Felicity's bickering, and thinking about the strangeness of life.

The college, en fête, was wonderful as always: a splendid buffet supper, the marquee with the jazz band, the disco with its whirling lights and the ballroom where the more sedate officers and wives circled to the strains of a decorous waltz.

Nothing really changes, thought Kate, sitting at a large table on a balcony that was probably called the Poop Deck. Bottles of champagne popped while jovial, handsome men—smart in their Mess Dress—and laughing, pretty, scented women—elegant in their ball dresses—moved up and down the stairs, calling to each other, embracing friends. She thought of Mark, nine years before, tall and darkly handsome, striding these very corridors and halls, and herself, excited and overawed by it all and quite sure that life had nothing more to offer. She remembered standing in the soft air of that July evening with the lights twinkling on the river below and listening to the Royal Marine Band playing Beat the Retreat on the Quarterdeck with the tears prickling at the back of her eyes.

How romantic and glamorous it all was, she thought. I suppose it isn't Mark's fault that I saw him as something on a film set. What a turn-on that strong silent approach was! That wonderful feeling that love conquers all. Perhaps it's as well that the young never think about the stark realities of life. It's essential that they feel that they can cope with anything it throws at them. How else would they have the courage to go forward?

She remembered her own high ideals, the part she'd hoped to play in Mark's life and the aura of excitement that had surrounded the Navy and particularly the submarine service.

It was like being presented with a big beautiful box, she thought,
only to find that when the paper was torn off and the ribbons undone, the bloody thing was empty!

‘You're looking far too sad.' One of the men was bending over her, filling her glass. ‘Cheer up, your old man will be home before too long. Come on, let's go and swing a leg!'

I
N THE NEXT EIGHTEEN
months, Kate found Dartmoor a tremendous solace. She rediscovered old haunts and found that the wild contours and rolling landscape were a constant joy. Its vast spaces kept her problems in proportion; beside such immensity and timelessness it seemed that nothing could be so terribly important. Out walking with Megs and the twins, her heart was soothed and uplifted and she understood the psalmist's cry: ‘I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills.'

With the twins at school she was free to spend more time on jaunts to Dartmouth and Totnes, often accompanied by the General. He was an unexacting, easy companion to whom she often found herself talking about her anxieties. It was a relief to voice her thoughts, to look at them calmly and rationally instead of arguing round and round inside her head. The General listened thoughtfully. He was fair and sensible and yet she knew that he was on her side. Kate found this immensely comforting. Her mother had the same approach but she had been unwell of late and Kate was too frightened to burden her with her own problems on her visits to St Just. Her mother rarely made the trip to Devon now. Her father was closer to his sons and Kate had never been intimate with him. She had no idea how seriously the General took his role of confidant, how he mulled and brooded over their talks and worried in case he was in any way misjudging the situation. It was not so much a question of advice but more of allowing her to talk things through and he prayed for guidance.

Mrs Hampton was another good friend. Wise and motherly, she had the same effect on Kate as the General had already remarked on himself and the children. She made her feel safe. In her company she could relax, shed her responsibilities. This was an enormous luxury
for Kate who had no one to turn to when pipes froze, the children were fractious or she was ill. There was no one to make her a cup of tea, take the twins off her hands or dig the garden. No one came home in the evening to share anxieties about money, laugh over some amusing incident or advise her about bringing up two boys. Mrs Hampton was an invaluable ally and Kate tried to repay by taking her for trips in the car. They would go Tavistock most Fridays to explore the market where Kate would pore for hours over the second-hand books whilst Mrs Hampton pottered about inspecting the home-made goodies and fresh vegetables and fruit. When she had made her purchases, Kate would help her carry them back to the car and then they would go and find some coffee.

Tavistock was Kate's local town and she would often go there to shop and visit the library, stopping off at the Bedford Hotel for coffee or for lunch, a great treat for the twins when they were on holiday. Gradually she began to make a few friends but, even so, it seemed odd to be living without the framework of the Navy after nearly nine years within it. She missed the life in the base and felt a strange sense of loss that she no longer had the support and companionship of other naval wives.

Only once did Mark invite her up to
Dolphin
to a party on the boat. The Wardroom greeted her with a certain amount of deference and some reserve and Kate, remembering Cass's words, wondered how Mark had represented her to them: as some potty woman living in the wilds of Dartmoor, unsocial, uncaring, wrapped up in her own life?

He paid a great deal of attention to one of the younger officer's wives as if to imply to Kate that he had been obliged to make the invitation but was resentful that she had accepted it. The girl was very flattered by his attentions and giggled and squirmed a great deal. Kate waited for her to say: ‘Oh, you are awful!' It seemed that she had been made much of when she went out to Nova Scotia during the boat's visit, this much being made clear to Kate by veiled hints and allusions and sidelong glances. The young officer, delighted to see his Captain so en rapport with his wife, encouraged and took it all in good part.

In the end she found herself talking to Ralph Masters, the First Lieutenant, a very pleasant and serious young man who clearly disapproved of Mark's behaviour but was doing his best to hide his feelings. He went to fetch her a drink and returned with a tall, dark girl.

‘I can't remember whether or not you have already met Harriet? We're engaged to be married now,' he said.

Kate smiled. ‘Yes, we met at the
Drake
ball, didn't we?' Suddenly she had a vision of Cass at that summer ball in the base at Devonport saying ‘ . . . we could all be Captains' wives. Think of the glory . . . '

That night in their room at Anglesea, Mark had had enough to drink to be sexually aroused but not enough to make him incapable. Kate, who after months of being alone longed for love, was disappointed. All she got was sex; brief, unsatisfactory and degrading.

She drove back to Devon, tired and dispirited, put the car away and let herself into the cottage. Before the kettle had boiled there was a knock at the door. The General stood outside.

‘How lovely,' Kate dragged him inside. ‘I've just got back. The kettle's on.'

He followed her into the kitchen and surprised her by taking both her hands firmly in his.

‘You must be very brave, my darling,' he said. ‘Your father telephoned me earlier when he couldn't get an answer from you. Your mother died this morning. It was her heart. She died, suddenly and painlessly, as she sat up in bed to have her morning cup of tea.'

Kate stared at him uncomprehendingly. It was simply not possible that her mother should die. Despite the fact of the deterioration in her health, Kate had not seriously considered that she could be left without the solid wall of unconditional love and support that had been at her back since memory began. She thought of the beloved face, worn with pain but still serene, and pictured quite clearly her mother's hand, holding her own, touching the twins, soothing pain, drying tears. Never again would she see that smile of welcome or know a safe place of shelter. Kate shook her head and her face crumpled like a child's. The General gathered her to his breast, comforting and consoling her, as if
she had indeed been one of the children. With her cheek against his heart, her hands clutching the rough tweed of his coat, Kate tried to imagine a world that no longer contained her mother. Her mind baulked and shied away from the idea. It was totally unimaginable. Presently the kettle boiled and, placing her gently in a chair, the General made the tea.