Tiger Men (61 page)

‘Yes, so Oscar tells me. I hope you’ll be able to teach him a few manners.’ Hugh Stanford has grown up, Caitie thought. The shy, tongue-tied boy she’d encountered in the street was gone. But then he’d always been such an intriguing mixture. She remembered the compassion he’d shown towards his brother at the football match and how he’d handled the situation with such maturity. He’d been more like a parent than a younger brother really. He’d impressed her that day. The combination of boy and man had been attractive even then.

Up on stage the MC had finished his spiel and the band had struck up again, this time with a waltz, ‘When Irish Eyes Are Smiling’.

‘Aren’t you going to ask me to dance?’ she said.

‘Of course I am.’ He offered her his arm and they stepped onto the floor.

They remained there for quite some time. After the waltz there was a quick-step, and then a series of foxtrots, which they danced to bouncy ragtime rhythms – ‘Oh, You Beautiful Doll’, ‘It’s a Long Way to Tipperary’, ‘Alexander’s Ragtime Band’ – Hugh and Caitie were indefatigable.

From the other side of the ballroom, Reginald watched them. He’d been unable to take his eyes off the girl from the moment he’d seen her. She was Shauna all over again, her flame-red hair swept high, her neck and shoulders flawless. Even the satin ballgown she wore, although simpler in line, was a deep emerald green, just as Shauna’s had been that night when they’d first met, right here in this ballroom. The evening was taking on an eerie quality for Reginald as he watched the spectre of his dead mistress dancing with his son.

It was the bandmaster who called a halt. The bracket was over, the band was to take a break, and Hugh and Caitie were finally forced from the dance floor.

‘I think a glass of punch is in order,’ he panted, ‘what do you say?’

‘Yes.’ She didn’t have breath enough left to say anything more.

‘Come on then.’ He took her hand and they made their way to the refreshment table. He loved that her hair was coming down and she didn’t seem to care.

They gulped their punch back thirstily and he refilled their glasses. Then they found themselves some space at the far end of the ballroom where they stood and talked.

From afar, Reginald followed the couple’s every move. He watched the intimacy of their body language, the way Hugh had taken her hand instead of offering his arm, the way they stood close together as they talked. The haunting image of Shauna had ceased to be of any interest, his only concern now was his son. The girl was clearly an O’Callaghan and not at all the right choice for Hugh.

‘Oscar says this will probably be his last trip into town.’ Caitie decided it was foolish to waste their limited time on small talk. ‘He says you’ll all be leaving soon.’

‘Yes, that’s what they’re telling us. I shall be saying my farewells to my family tomorrow.’

‘I’ll write to you while you’re gone, Hugh. That is if you want me to.’

‘I do, very much.’

‘To your safe return.’ She raised her glass.

‘To the safe return of us all.’ They clinked and drank.

‘Rupert will miss you.’

‘Yes, he will. He’s missed me hugely these past six weeks. He can’t understand why he’s not allowed to come to training camp with me.’ Hugh smiled. ‘He thinks the camp’s something to do with footie training.’

‘I’ll call around and visit him while you’re away, if you like.’

‘Would you really do that?’ He was taken aback by the offer. He didn’t quite know why, but it seemed to him extraordinarily caring. ‘You don’t have to, you know.’

‘Of course I don’t have to,’ Caitie gave a careless shrug that to Hugh was very reminiscent of her brother, ‘I’d do it because I want to. I like Rupert.’

The band was back on stage and as the musicians struck up a lively rendition of ‘Give My Regards to Broadway’ several of the younger set took to the floor.

‘Oh my gosh,’ Caitie said, ‘they’re doing the turkey trot. Come on.’ Dumping their punch glasses on a nearby side table they headed hand in hand for the dance floor.

The turkey trot was followed by the other ridiculous ‘animal dances’ that constituted the latest craze, and the older members present stood on the sidelines bemused as the young ones took over the dance floor.

‘Where’s Oscar?’ During a brief hiatus following the kangaroo hop, Caitie looked around for her brother. He usually took centre stage when it came to the modern dances.

Oscar was indeed nowhere to be seen. Hugh gazed about the ballroom and could see no sign of the woman in the canary-yellow dress either. Her husband was still in evidence though, enjoying a glass of ale with his friends at the refreshment table.

‘He’s probably popped out for a bit of fresh air,’ he said. Then the band segued into ‘Bill Bailey, Won’t You Please Come Home?’ and as the duck waddle took precedence Oscar was forgotten.

He reappeared only several minutes later, dancing the grizzly bear right beside them with a young fair-haired girl of around sixteen, the daughter of one of the Auxiliary Committee ladies.

Hugh glanced over at the refreshment table. The woman in the canary-yellow dress was chatting with her husband and his friends. He had surely been imagining any link – it was better not to think about it.

All too soon the evening was over. For Hugh and Caitie, who had not left each other’s side, it seemed to have passed in an instant, and yet that instant somehow signified a lifetime. This was a night that had changed everything. And now the band was nearing the end of its very last waltz. ‘After the Ball Is Over’ had been the bandmaster’s highly appropriate choice.

He held her close as they danced. ‘May I escort you home?’ he asked: he couldn’t bear the thought of saying goodbye.

‘I’m afraid not,’ she said regretfully. ‘Oscar would be in dire trouble if you did. I’ve been entrusted to his care for the evening, and my grandmother can be a positive virago when it comes to anything she perceives as a threat to my virtue.’

‘Of course.’ He couldn’t disguise his disappointment.

The waltz was over and, as the last strains of the melody hung in the air, the bandmaster turned and bowed, then stretched out his arms in recognition of his musicians. Those on the dance floor clapped and cried ‘bravo’ and within seconds the entire ballroom had erupted into applause. The evening had been an unqualified success.

‘Oscar says you’re catching the midday train back to camp tomorrow,’ Caitie said as the applause finally died down and the crowd started drifting off the dance floor.

‘That’s right.’

‘I shall be at the station at a half-past eleven.’ She offered her hand and they shook. ‘Good night, Hugh, it’s been a wonderful evening.’ The handshake didn’t seem quite enough, so she leant up and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Truly wonderful,’ she said, and then she was gone, leaving him standing in the middle of the semi-deserted dance floor.

He joined his parents, who were once again chatting to the Lyttletons.

‘Ah, there you are, dear.’ Evelyn smiled. She was looking very fragile these days. ‘We’ve barely seen you all night. Did you have a good time?’

‘I had a splendid time, thank you, Mother.’

Of course you had a splendid time, Reginald thought, fuming. ‘The car will have arrived, Hugh; we’ll be leaving in ten minutes or so,’ he said pleasantly, guarding any show of irritation.

‘If you don’t mind, Father, I’ll walk home. I feel like a bit of a stroll.’ His father’s chauffeur had dropped them off in the Rolls Royce, and Hugh had felt shockingly self-conscious as they’d pulled up outside the town hall. The show of ostentation had seemed so wrong. He didn’t wish to hurt his father’s feelings, however. The vehicle was Reginald Stanford’s pride and joy, he’d worked hard to earn it and he had every right to enjoy it. Hugh did not stand in judgement of his father, but from his own point of view the silver Rolls Royce had lost its charm.

‘Of course, my boy,’ Reginald clapped an arm around his son’s shoulder, ‘we’ll see you at home then.’ The boy chose to walk, did that mean an assignation – was the slut perhaps waiting for him? If so, excellent, he thought. The lad was undoubtedly a virgin, a quick bout between the sheets would do him the world of good. But the situation had looked far more serious than that.

He edged Hugh a little to one side. ‘Tell me,’ he said quietly, ‘the young lady whose company you were enjoying – very beautiful I might add, you show great taste –’ he smiled in man-to-man fashion, then added as if it were merely a matter of interest ‘– she’s an O’Callaghan, isn’t she?’

‘That’s right, Caitlin O’Callaghan.’

‘Ah yes, I thought so.’ Reginald nodded sagely. ‘They’re a handsome family, all right.’

Hugh knew just what his father was thinking. The O’Callaghans weren’t good enough. Is it because they’re of the Roman Catholic faith or is it because they’re not filthy rich? he wondered. A mixture of both probably. Either way, Hugh was not in the least bothered. For several years now he’d accepted his father for what he was.

‘Mara Dimbleby is Caitie’s aunt,’ he said. That should surely keep the old man happy, he thought. ‘See you at home, Father.’

Reginald watched, powerless, as his son walked away. Now was hardly the time to put his foot down, he realised, but he did hope the girl wouldn’t prove a problem in the future. Yet again, he cursed Archie Dimbleby for having married so far beneath him: it set such a bad example.

The following morning, the family gathered in the front drawing room and Hugh made his farewells as he’d planned. He’d already said goodbye to each of the servants, who had now tastefully withdrawn to give the family their privacy.

He embraced his mother, holding her close.

‘Take care, Hugh,’ Evelyn said. ‘I shall pray for your safe return. May God go with you.’ Evelyn had determined she would not shed a tear. Not until she was alone anyway.

‘We’re proud of you, my boy.’ Reginald shook his son’s hand. He still blamed the Balfour brothers for inciting in Hugh the desire to go to war, but he
was
proud of his son. Already the army had turned the boy into a man. ‘I know you’ll serve your country well.’

‘Thank you, Father.’

For Hugh the delicate part of the exercise was saying goodbye to Rupert. ‘I am going away to serve a very important duty, Rupert,’ he said to his brother.

‘Can I come too?’

‘No, you can’t, because you have a very important duty of your own to serve right here.’

‘What? What?’ Rupert was only too eager to serve a duty like his brother.

‘You will look after Mother while I am gone.’

‘Yes, yes.’ Rupert gathered his mother in his arms. ‘I will look after Mother,’ he said, and he held her to him as if daring anyone to part them.

Rupert’s newfound sense of responsibility was proving exactly the distraction Hugh had intended it should, but Reginald found the sight of the hulking nineteen-year-old cuddling his mother undignified and intrusive on the solemnity of the occasion. Surely they had gathered to farewell Hugh upon his imminent departure for the battlefields of Europe, not to cater to a simpleton.

‘Let me drive you to the station, son. Please, I insist.’

‘No, Father.’ Hugh had refused the same offer earlier. ‘As I’ve said, I wish our goodbyes to take place here.’

It was clear no negotiation was to be entered into, and Reginald had no option but to stand on the front porch with Evelyn, who was still locked in Rupert’s protective embrace, and watch as his son crossed the courtyard, turning to wave before walking through the main gates and disappearing from their lives, possibly forever.

Hugh arrived at the station at a quarter-past eleven. The platform was not yet crowded with the troops who would be catching the midday train to Brighton and he positioned himself where he would see her the moment she appeared.

Then, on the dot of half-past eleven, there she was. Her hair was pinned up beneath the toque that she wore, but the flash of red caught his eye in an instant. Oscar was by her side.

He waved and they joined him, Oscar immediately voicing complaint. ‘I told the family they weren’t allowed to come to the station,’ he said, ‘but Caitie maintains she’s here to say goodbye to you, not me . . .’

‘Hello, Hugh.’

‘Hello, Caitie.’

‘. . . She even made me get here twenty minutes earlier than I’d planned.’

‘I’m glad she did.’ Hugh smiled, his eyes not leaving Caitie’s for a second.

‘Oh well,’ Oscar gave one of his insouciant shrugs, ‘I’ll just fill in some time over here, shall I?’ He didn’t bother waiting for a reply, but ambled off and lit up a smoke.

‘Thank you for coming,’ Hugh said.

‘I have something for you.’ She took an envelope from her purse and gave it to him.

He opened it. Inside was a photograph.

‘It’s not a very good one,’ she said apologetically, ‘but it’s the pick of a rather pathetic collection. I don’t have many I’m afraid.’

The small black and white picture was a full-length portrait of a pretty girl whose pose was most demure. She was seated very properly on a small hardback chair, her feet not visible beneath her long skirt, her hands placed delicately in her lap. But the girl’s expression defied the pose, telling a different story altogether. She seemed on the verge of laughter. The curve of her lip was mischievous and her eyes sparkled with a humour that she appeared barely able to contain. The photograph may not have done her beauty full justice, but it had captured the very essence of Caitie O’Callaghan.

‘It’s beautiful,’ Hugh said.

‘I wrote on the back.’

He turned the photograph over.
Come home safely,
she’d written,
with all my love, Caitie.

‘I couldn’t think of anything fancy,’ she said. ‘I tried, but it sounded wrong somehow.’

‘I wouldn’t have wanted anything fancy. This is exactly right.’ He returned the photograph to its envelope and carefully placed it in the breast pocket of his army jacket.

Neither one of them initiated the kiss. It just seemed to happen. They just seemed to drift together in some inevitable fashion. Then, as their lips met, their arms rose to an embrace and they became oblivious to everything around them.

When they finally parted, Caitie looked about at the platform, which was now quite crowded. ‘Just as well Oscar didn’t let the family come to the station,’ she said. She smiled and linked her arm through his. ‘Come on, let’s go and join him. I feel a bit guilty.’