War Damage (19 page)

nineteen

T
HE HEATH, STILL WOUNDED
and scarred with trenches and mounds and barbed wire, was fading, greens dying into browns and greys. Cato whirled ahead of her. She walked through the silver birch glade towards the ponds. She wasn't due at the café yet.

Then, as he'd done before, Eugene appeared suddenly from among the trees. The moment before the path had been empty, but now he stood there. He smiled. The collar of his old linen jacket was turned up and met the edge of his hat with its wide brim, and he'd wound a scarf round his neck on this chilly day. He must be cold – a down-and-out without a coat. How did he know she'd be here? He must have been following her, tracking her, spying on her. She was terrified he'd come to the house.

He fell into step beside her. Cato came gambolling towards them, barking and waggling his bottom and with a grin on his slavering mouth. ‘I told you I had a way with dogs. He remembers me, see.'

‘When are you going back to Ireland?' She'd blurted it out without meaning to.

‘That's not very friendly, now, is it, Roisin? Will you be so pleased to see the back of me then?'

Her headscarf was loose. As she walked along she pulled it tighter and redid the knot under her chin. ‘Is everything all right? You look tired.'

He smiled his crooked, boyish smile. ‘To be honest I'm in a spot of trouble. But then I'm no stranger to trouble.' He spoke lightly enough. ‘And it's good of you to be concerned.'

They crossed over a stream and up the hill, then down a slope and up again until they rounded a corner and Kenwood House came into view, neglected, grey and bleakly shuttered.

As they paced along he talked about the old days, and he was as he'd been then, trying to spin a yarn, to seduce an audience, any audience, into laughter. How carefree he'd been as he worked the foreign concession. The world was his friend … he and Freddie had in a way been two of a kind. She'd liked men like that, the risky ones. Only now it didn't work any more. There was no spring in his walk, no fun to be had, only a shifty con man in an uncertain, jittery mood.

‘What happened to you in the war?'

‘It's a long story. I'll not bore you with that.' The smile was gone. His expression hardened. He put his hand on her elbow as they passed beyond the house and into another muddy meadow. ‘The thing is, darling, I'm a bit short of money.'

She said hurriedly: ‘I brought ten pounds, I know it's not an enormous amount, but I don't want Neville to notice. You understand, don't you.'

‘I wouldn't want your husband to think I'm a sponger, I was never a sponger, was I now, darling. I wouldn't want him to think I
existed
.' He held her arm tighter. ‘I wonder sometimes if I do.' It seemed to amuse him. ‘Do you believe I exist, my love?'

She tried to laugh off his strange mood. ‘Oh, Eugene—'

The smile was gone. He stopped and pulled her round roughly to face him. ‘I don't want your charity, Regine, thank you kindly all the same. It's the necklace I want, the jade necklace I gave you.'

‘Necklace?' Her heart beat frantically. She managed to pull away from him.

‘You know what I'm talking about. I told you it was valuable. When you left, I told you to leave it behind – you'd be safely back in England and I'd need it more than you. It was my insurance policy.'

She shook her head. ‘But I
did
leave it. I left it in Shanghai.'

Coiled like a cold green snake in Freddie's dressing-table drawer …

‘Now, Roisin, you won't lie to me, will you.'

She swallowed. ‘I'm not lying.' And then to have found it in the house in Markham Square.

They were in an overgrown, bosky copse. The brambles coiled above and round them and dense rhododendron bushes crowded in. She was alone with him, no one for miles around. Even Cato had disappeared.

‘But you see when I went round to the flat it wasn't there.'

‘You didn't find it? Oh God – that's extraordinary – someone must have stolen it – that houseboy we had. He was light-fingered.'

‘No, no, that won't do, Roisin.'

Fear sent her on the offensive. ‘If it was so valuable, you shouldn't have left it with me. It should have been in the bank—'

‘Oh –' He laughed bitterly. She had made him angrier. ‘They'd have smelled a rat as soon as look at it.'

‘I didn't take it with me,' she said obstinately. And that at least was true. It wasn't there. She hadn't decided whether to leave it or not, it was so beautiful, but when she opened the box it was empty, and she was afraid to tell him. Freddie knew about it, but it hadn't occurred to her then that … ‘You don't think Freddie could have – he was still living in the flat …'

‘You didn't
tell
Freddie about it, did you? Now, that would have been a stupid thing to do.'

Of course she'd told Freddie. She'd trusted Freddie. She'd said goodbye to Freddie before she'd discovered the jade had gone. She'd been in a hurry to catch the boat and maybe she hadn't looked properly, or the houseboy or …

‘You're not holding out on me, Roisin. You wouldn't do that now, would you. Because you see I did ask Freddie at the time and he swore he hadn't seen any necklace and he thought you'd taken it with you.'

Freddie had lied too. Perhaps he'd been frightened of Eugene. Eugene was becoming unpredictable, already by then there was more of his temper, less of his laughs …

‘Well, I didn't.'

She turned back. ‘Let's get out of here. It's so gloomy. There's hardly any light. And I don't know where Cato's got to.'

She was afraid he'd do something, try to stop her, hurt her even. But he shrugged and they soon came out onto open ground again. When they reached the place where the paths diverged she gestured to the right. ‘I'm going home now,' she said. Cato rushed towards them from the undergrowth and snuffled joyfully round Eugene. She made a grab for him, and managed to snap on the lead at the first attempt. He shook his head, pranced and whined, but she jerked him to heel.

Eugene called after her: ‘Think about it, darling. I have to have that necklace somehow or other. I'll ring you in a day or two.'

When she reached home, she sat over the fire as the light ebbed beyond the window, and she was still there when Phil arrived, banging his bike in the hallway. ‘Anyone home?'

‘I'm in here.'

‘Oh!' Startled to find her in the dark, he switched on the light, which glared cruelly down.

‘I think I must have fallen asleep,' she lied.

‘Are you all right?'

‘Of course. I went for such a long walk with Cato, I'm feeling a bit tired.'

‘I'll get you a cup of tea.'

She knew it was mad, but she had to see Charles. The Wednesday after that Wednesday he hadn't turned up. She'd frightened him away. He was regretting the whole thing. But she had to see him. And this way she'd kill two birds with one stone. She'd renew her efforts to make friends with Vivienne.

Behind the scaffolding, the house was still full of dust and rubble, everything exposed. The workmen were on the roof now.

Charles himself opened the door. There was an awkward moment. They stared at each other.

‘My mother isn't here. She's out.'

‘You didn't come to see me last week!' Regine could have bitten the words back as soon as she'd spoken; too flirtatious and at the same time reproachful, begging, the woman rejected.

His glance flickered away. ‘Do come in anyway.'

‘Oh no, I don't want to disturb you.'

‘Come in,' he insisted. He ushered her into the dust-sheeted drawing room. ‘God knows where she is. With Mr Carnforth, probably. Can I get you a cup of tea?'

‘No thank you, I won't stay. I just came to see your mother.'

‘She and Carnforth are trying to get me interested in religion now.' He attempted a laugh, but he sounded a bit desperate, she thought. ‘If only Freddie was still here – he'd have told Carnforth where to get off.'

Puzzled and disturbed, she could think of nothing to say. It was all so peculiar.

They heard the key in the lock and the front door opened.

‘Oh Christ,' muttered the boy.

Vivienne looked paler than ever. She undid her dark red coat to reveal a formal woollen dress with diamond clips at the neck, also maroon – a terrible colour, though it suited her pallor.

Freddie had always been so critical of one's clothes. He'd always known exactly what was right and what wasn't, what worked and what didn't.

Regine stood up. ‘I was just leaving. I came round to see … how you were … well, I was going to ask you – I was hoping you'll come next Sunday … I think lots of people will be there who knew Freddie. I cancelled the one at the beginning of November, so this one will be rather special, I hope.'

‘Would you like some tea?' said Vivienne in a chilly voice.

‘No thank you. I must go – it's getting late.' She couldn't understand why Vivienne was so hostile. ‘It must be so difficult living in all this dust,' she said. ‘Wouldn't you be better off staying in a hotel while all this is going on?' Oh, but that was the wrong thing to say too. Vivienne looked colder than ever.

‘John wouldn't hear of that. It's costing a fortune already. And someone has to be here to see what they're doing. Anyway, he doesn't really notice. He's out all day – and you don't seem to mind either, Charles, do you.'

‘It's quite fun, actually. Look – I'm going upstairs if you'll excuse me.'

The door banged. Vivienne lit a cigarette.

‘He's such a nice boy. He has beautiful manners.' Regine hoped this would soften Vivienne.

‘He's too old for his age.' Vivienne puffed greedily. ‘He came to see you, didn't he. I suppose he talked about Freddie.'

Regine swallowed. ‘Not really,' she lied, ‘I helped him a bit with his French. Does he talk to you a lot about Freddie, then? You were close to Freddie …'

Vivienne's face was rigid. ‘Oh, Charles never talks to me. And I didn't see nearly so much of Freddie – not since the war –'

That hadn't been the impression Freddie gave. Perhaps his effort to get Vivienne to her Sunday had been more to regain the dancer's friendship than to please her, the hostess, his other best girl. ‘I really must go,' she said.

As she walked back up Regent's Park Road she heard footsteps thudding behind her. When Charles caught up with her, he was out of breath. ‘Look – I'm sorry if I was rude. I – I need to talk to you – about Freddie.'

‘Well, you can come and see me tomorrow.'

‘Okay, I will.'

Vivienne sat on the sofa and smoked. Then she lit another cigarette and paced up and down. Two, three cigarettes. She'd heard Charles leave the house. She inhaled voraciously and took the cigarette out of her mouth between finger and thumb, like a navvy, her gestures quite lacking the elegance an onlooker might have expected.

The front door banged again. She called Charles's name, but he didn't answer and she heard the creaking sound the ladder made as he climbed it.

How dare that woman come here. During the war she hadn't noticed … Freddie was called up and she was always dancing … oh, those wonderful times …
Giselle
… her great role … but after the war it all fell apart and she wasn't dancing any more … that dreadful evening at Sadler's Wells; nearly two years ago. It had turned very cold. It wasn't even warm inside the theatre, although the golden glow embraced you after the freezing chill outside. They had a box. How she'd longed to be on the stage, to be anywhere but in the box … the audience could see her, they'd pity her … in the interval she wouldn't mingle with Freddie and Charles in the bar and the foyer and now in retrospect she imagined amid the greetings and smiles – effusive, almost frantic, as if every member of the audience were desperate to enjoy things again after the long years of war … and the smell of mothballs, they'd all got their evening dress out again … and the knowing looks of Freddie's friends as they looked Charles over. Worst of all, Freddie must have told everyone she was there, for at the end of the interval the audience gradually realised where she was, standing and turning as one in her direction and there was applause that Freddie must have somehow organised, and she'd hated it, shrinking away at the back of the box … and all the while it had been Regine this, Regine that. And John didn't like her seeing Freddie anyway.

Arthur was right. Freddie had used her. He'd only had eyes for Charles – she realised that now – but how could she have been so blind, not to have noticed – to have made herself not notice, because …

But if only it had all been different – as it was in the beginning, in the old days, before Freddie went to Shanghai, before Charles was born, when they were all really young.