Still Waters (58 page)

‘Just us,’ Mal said at one point. ‘All right?’

‘Mm hmm, fine, thanks. Funny old picnic, though.’

‘Maybe. Want another scone?’

But the picnic was finished before the rain, which still fell steadily. Tess got to her feet, went to the doorway, then came back.

‘The sky’s
black
towards Breydon Water,’ she reported. ‘It’s no use sheltering and hoping, Mal. This weather’s set in for a week, if you ask me.’

‘Oh dear,’ Mal said in an unconvincing voice. ‘What’ll we do, stuck in this barn, just the two of us?’

There was a laugh in his voice but something else, too, something which made Tess shiver all over, with excitement, apprehension . . .

‘We’ll have to go back to the boat and row back to Stokesby,’ she said, however. ‘No point in waiting for the rain to finish; of course we’ll get drenched, but what’s a little water between friends?’

‘What indeed?’ He stood up and put his arm about her, then lifted her off her feet and carried her, not back to the rustic seat but to a pile of marsh hay. He sat her down, then sat down beside her. A dried thistle insinuated itself briskly into the soft bit behind Tess’s knee and Tess squawked and jumped. The fact that she landed in Mal’s arms was neither here nor there, she told herself, explaining that she was being thistled and would he kindly . . . kindly . . .

He kindly kissed her and Tess, who had lost the thistle when she jumped, kissed him, too. And there, in the draughty old barn on the musty marsh hay, they kissed and cuddled and murmured each other’s names and forgot the pouring rain, the chilly breeze, and the long row home.

But they couldn’t ignore it for ever, and presently, warm and pink and wondering whether she had behaved badly or well when she stopped Mal from several delightful activities because, she thought, they were Going Too Far, Tess got to her feet.

‘I love being cuddled, Mal,’ she said frankly. ‘But we’ve got to go, you know. The boat will be filling with water and the sooner we get back the sooner we can change into dry things and – and decide what to do this evening. Do come along!’

‘I was enjoying it,’ Mal protested, but he got to his feet too and began to brush hay out of Tess’s hair and off her clothing, which nearly led to a resumption of those very activities which Tess thought so dangerous. ‘And I’ve decided what I want to do this evening – I can do it here as well as there.’

‘Oh, really? Roast duck, Pilot Officer Chandler, no doubt with all the trimmings!’

‘I do think of other things besides food sometimes,’ Mal said, but he went to the doorway and looked out, then looked back at her, grinning. ‘Besides, I fancy there might be objections if we started cuddling in the Ferry bar, with half the village looking on. Of course, if we could ask Mrs Figgis to hire us a nice, dry bedroom . . .’

‘What a suggestion!’ Tess said in a combative tone, only she rather spoiled it by adding wistfully, ‘Wouldn’t it be nice, though? Only I expect Mrs Figgis would think we were up to something awful if we disappeared upstairs together.’

‘What, in the middle of the afternoon?’

‘Oh, yes. I forgot. And anyway we will have to get dry or we shan’t enjoy her dinner. Let’s get going, then.’

Hand in hand, they ran out into the rain, Mal carrying the now empty picnic basket. They reached the boat, which was rapidly filing with water, and emptied it, first by tipping it and then by baling furiously with the empty paint tin in the stern.

‘I’ll row,’ Mal said, when this task had been accomplished. ‘I don’t think an oar each will work, somehow. I’m in a hurry.’

He bent to his task with a will and it wasn’t nearly as long as Tess had expected before they were mooring their small craft at the pub’s landing stage.

‘Straight indoors, Tess,’ Mal gasped as he and Tess ran across the soaking grass. ‘Or should I say young drowned rat? You couldn’t be wetter if you’d jumped in the river.’

They shot into the bar, where a young woman in her twenties was arranging glasses on a shelf above the counter. She had a cigarette apparently glued to her lower lip, since it remained there throughout the exchange which followed.

‘Hello! My Gawd, you two bin a-swimmin’, then?’

‘No, boating,’ Tess said. Water ran down her face and dripped on to the highly polished boards beneath her feet. ‘I wonder, is there anywhere we could dry ourselves off a bit?’

The young woman considered.

‘Don’t see no harm,’ she decided. ‘Mrs Figgis isn’t around, but she’d send you up I reckon. Bathroom’s second door on the right at the top o’ the stairs. There’s towels laid out ready. An’ dressin’-gowns. You go an’ change, then bring your wet clothes down an’ I’ll dry ’em out in the kitchen, on the maiden.’

Tess hesitated, but Mal pushed her ahead of him across the bar to the stairs and then hustled her up them.

‘Second door on the right,’ he breathed into her ear. ‘Don’t worry, sweetheart, bathrooms aren’t bedrooms.’

‘Nor they are,’ Tess agreed thankfully. She had felt quite guilty simply mounting the stairs, but Mal’s remark put things in perspective. ‘Who’ll go first?’

‘You.’ Mal threw open the bathroom door and bundled her in, then followed her, closing and locking the door behind them. ‘Now isn’t this nice? A geyser with matches, so we can get hot water, and towels, and robes behind the door.’ He smiled brightly at Tess. ‘Well, love, what’s holding you up? Start drying off.’

When Tess still hesitated he seized a towel and began to dry her hair, nearly rubbing her ears off in the process.

‘Ouch!’ Tess said wrathfully. She grabbed the towel from him and started to rub her face and neck more gently. ‘I thought we were going to take turns, but if we aren’t you just concentrate on drying yourself, Mal Chandler!’

He grinned but obeyed her and presently pulled off his jacket, tie and shirt, emerging rumple-headed but apparently unembarrassed by being half naked.

‘I’m soaked to the skin,’ he explained, seeing Tess’s eyes widen. ‘Don’t worry, you won’t see any more of me than you would if we were on the beach. Do the same, Tess – I’ll turn my back, I’m a gent despite my accent – and wrap the towel round you.’

After a moment’s hesitation, Tess obeyed, struggling out of her drenched outer clothing and somehow managing to get the towelling robe on without losing her dignity or revealing too much. Not that Mal would have known, since he had strolled over to the window and stood with his back to her, thoughtfully towelling himself across his broad shoulders.

And presently, clean and dried though with an armful of wet clothing each, they were ready to go downstairs once more.

‘Give me a kiss before we go,’ Mal said. He dropped his clothing across the side of the bath and pulled her into his arms. ‘Oh, how lovely you feel, all soft and yielding without your clothes on.’

‘That sounds very rude, and anyway, I’m not,’ Tess said, pulling away. ‘Not yielding, I mean. It isn’t that I don’t like all this, it’s just . . . anyone might come in!’

‘Door’s still locked,’ Mal mumbled against her neck. ‘Oh, Tess, Tess, Tess!’

‘I know. But come on, Mal, please. That woman will start to wonder why we’re taking so long.’

‘Right,’ Mal said, clearly realising that she was serious. ‘Incidentally, what did she mean when she said she’d put the wet clothes on the maiden? Don’t say they have a servant who has nothing else to do but bend over the fire all day and dry out clothes?

Tess laughed. ‘It’s an old expression for a sort of wooden frame which stands in front of an open fire. You hang your clothes over the bars to dry,’ she said. ‘I expect she’ll show it to us, then you’ll know. We call ours a clothes-horse, but I’ve heard other people refer to a clothes-maiden.’

‘Good; I didn’t like the sound of it,’ Mal said, as they re-entered the bar. ‘Oh, she’s gone. Which way’s the kitchen?’

Despite their soaking, the two of them continued to enjoy their day. The girl, whose name was Eth, took them into the kitchen and left them to hang their clothing over the wooden airer, and when it was dry she despatched them, one at a time, back to the bathroom to dress. She might have meant them to go up together, of course, but Tess, who had felt warm and wonderful in Mal’s arms, decided that it simply would not do to be alone with him again. He’ll think the worse of me if I let him carry on, she told herself firmly. And I do want him to like me!

So when Eth brought their dried clothing through she took hers and then sent Mal ahead whilst she engaged Eth in conversation. And if she felt lonely upstairs in the big, old-fashioned bathroom whilst Mal, downstairs, cross-questioned Eth about the barn and its dusty marsh hay, she wasn’t lonely for long and was buoyed up, in any case, by a sense of having behaved just as she ought.

The roast duck was wonderful, the apple pudding which followed it delicious, and they caught the last bus back to Norwich in very good charity both with the Ferry public house and with each other. They sat on the top deck of the bus, gazing out over the wet, moonlit countryside, for the rain had stopped earlier and now the stars pricked the dark velvet of a clear sky, and talked softly.

‘You’re sure your Mrs Thrower won’t mind giving me a bed?’ Mal asked as they queued for a taxi outside Thorpe Station, with a number of other people who had got off various buses and trains. ‘I don’t want to impose, but it’s getting late for making other arrangements.’

‘She’ll be happy, honestly,’ Tess assured him. ‘She isn’t on the telephone, but she’s never let me down, not Mrs Thrower. It won’t be much, but she’s got ten sons, and only two of them are still at home, so you’ll be sleeping in someone’s bed.’

‘Fine,’ said Mal, and repeated the remark when Mrs Thrower, placidly accepting that Tess’s friend would be grateful for a bed overnight, showed him a tiny room with an immense bed in it and bade him ‘Mek yourself at home, my man’.

‘Mrs Thrower, you’re wonderful,’ Tess said urgently when they returned to the kitchen and Mal had taken himself off to the ‘little house’ at the end of the garden. ‘I wish I could have asked Marianne, but you know what she’s like.’

‘She’d not have refused you,’ Mrs Thrower said. ‘But I’m right glad to help, my woman, don’t you think no more about it.’

‘I know she’d have said yes,’ Tess admitted. ‘But she’d have thought it very odd, very forward. It’s better this way.’

‘Aye, you’re right there,’ Mrs Thrower said. ‘He don’t mind that we don’t have no indoor lavvy?’

‘No, they don’t have an indoor toilet back in Australia, either,’ Tess said. ‘I – I like him awfully, Mrs Thrower. I’ve only known him a little while, but already I know he’s special. Isn’t it strange? I’ve known Ash for years and years and Andy even longer, but . . . oh, I can’t explain.’

‘You don’t have to, dearie,’ Mrs Thrower said, heaving the kettle off the hob and pouring boiling water into the teapot. ‘You aren’t the only woman on the planet what hev fallen in love, I ’member well what it were like.’

‘Oh, then you really think . . . Oh, Mrs Thrower, I’m so happy!’

Tess awoke in her own bed next morning and could not, for a moment, understand the glow which filled her. She felt as she had felt as a child on Christmas morning, or on the first day of the holidays, when she and Daddy had been going somewhere special. She glanced across at the curtains and saw sunshine, and then remembered in a breathtaking flash. Mal was staying at Staithe Cottage, and she was in love!

She rushed over washing and dressing, and arrived downstairs as Cherie was making herself porridge. She beamed across at Tess, and waved a porridgy spoon.

‘Hello, Tess. I didn’t know you were home! Want some of this? I’ve made heaps, I thought I’d take a bowlful up to Maman, put her in a good mood because I’m going to be late home this evening. There’s a rehearsal of
The Merchant of Venice
after class – did I tell you I was Portia? – and Sarah Threlfall’s brother says he’ll bring me home. He’s gorgeous, in the sixth at the City of Norwich, Maman was really nice to him the last time he brought me home. He’s got a motor bike.’

‘No porridge thanks, and yes, you told me you were Portia and no, you’ve never mentioned whatsisname,’ Tess said. She went across to the pantry and peered. ‘Any eggs? A friend of mine spent the night at Mrs Thrower’s, but he’s coming here for brekker, I invited him.’

‘Him? Ash, d’you mean?’

‘No, not Ash. Another friend. His name’s Malcolm Chandler, he’s a bomber pilot and an Aussie. I’d like you to meet him, but if you can’t you can’t. He’s only got a forty-eight, you see, the same as me.’

‘Malcolm Chandler,’ Cherie said slowly. ‘You’ve never mentioned
him
before, Tess.’

‘No, because I didn’t meet him until quite recently, but now . . .’ Tess broke off as there came a perfunctory knock on the back door, which then creaked open. She smiled. ‘Mal? Wonderful, you’ll just have time to say hello to Cherie – my sister – before she has to rush off to school.’

‘Hel
lo
, Malcolm,’ Cherie drawled. She pushed a wing of hair behind her ear and looked across at him, lowering her head and peering coyly through her thick, dark lashes. She also put her hands on her hips, drew in a deep breath, and made the most of her bosom, Tess saw disapprovingly. All of a sudden her sister had become very
femme fatale
, it seemed. ‘So you’re Tess’s new friend!’

She made it sound as though friend was a synonym for something far warmer and less reputable, but Mal just laughed.

‘Hi, Cherie. Nice to know you,’ he said. ‘And I’m Mal; I don’t know why but whenever a woman calls me Malcolm it makes me feel I’m back in school.’

‘I am in school,’ Cherie said, suddenly abandoning her French film starlet pose and grinning engagingly up at him. ‘It’s hateful, and I’m jolly nearly old enough to leave, but Maman wants me to stay on, get myself a decent education.’ She snorted. ‘A fat lot of good an education is in wartime.’

‘Mothers usually know what’s best,’ Mal said. ‘Hey, is that porridge? I’m real fond of porridge; any chance of some?’

Marianne, alerted by her daughter, came down for breakfast so that she might meet Tess’s friend, and Mal was nice to her, friendly, polite.